Loyalties: A Father Goose Tale
by litmouse
Summary: COMPLETE xover with ALIAS Syd Bristow goes to Rome in search of her lost memory. Two strange sisters set her off on an odyssey into the world of magic, monsters and all too human evil. Xander Faith Buffy Dawn Willow, Sydney Jack Marshall
1. Prologue: Run, Sydney, Run

**Loyalties: A Father Goose Tale**

**A BTVS – Alias Crossover**

**By Litmouse**

**Disclaimer:** BTVS characters and canon belong to Joss Whedon et al.

Alias characters and canon belong to JJ Abrams et al.

Not to me. So it goes.

About ALIAS: If you are not familiar with Alias:

First, I highly recommend that you beg borrow buy rent or steal the DVD's for the first two and one third seasons (and I recommend the rest as well, just not so highly).

Secondly, MAJOR SPOILERS for the first three seasons, starting with the timeline description on this page.

**Alias Timeline**:

The story picks up at the end of PRELUDE, the 7th episode of the 3rd season and will be AU after that. To the best of my recollection and reference, canon up to that point. Season three events taking place prior to Prelude still occur but may be subject to radically different interpretations compared to canon.

Lauren is not evil, at least not in a Sark-banging double-agent way.

**BTVS Timeline:**

Canon for BTVS/AtS, and assumes Angel, Spike, and Gunn all died in NFA.

Takes place approximately three and a half years after Chosen and begins a few days after the events described in my previous fic _"Father Goose and the Black Knight."_ There may be a few cutesy references, but it will not be necessary to read the previous fic to follow this one.

**WARNINGS:** Violence, cussing, Xander in the same room with Faith, Sydney, and Irina, so definitely thoughts of sex at the very least. Some motorcycle porn seems likely.

Also, I know just enough about networks, computer security, high-end security systems etc. to have some idea of how much I don't know. Also, yawn. It's very possible that at some point Marshall will do something utterly preposterous, technologically speaking. All I can say is, it won't be the first time.

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_That lamp has a bug killer in it. So we're safe here. _Sydney Bristow

Prologue: Run, Sydney, Run 

**HAVANA**

The goon behind Sydney pulled her back and held her down, his hands cold and rigid on her shoulders. She tried to lean forward and found she couldn't even budge the man. So she leaned back, put her best weapon into play.

She smiled, said,

"Since I guess I'm going to stay awhile," she nodded wryly at the man behind her, "you won't mind if I get comfortable?" knowing that what she planned shouldn't work with pro's like these and knowing it would anyway. She laid her leg on the table, the slit dress falling away from the smoothly muscled and perfectly tapered limb. She leaned slowly forward, gliding her hands down to undo the strap of her shoe with its stiletto heel.

"Because," she added, "these shoes are killing me," and she swapped legs in a swirl of red fabric and slid her hands slowly down again to undo the other shoe so she had one in either hand and she pulled her legs back, bare now as the skirt fell down her thighs to gather around her waist and she giggled. And kicked over the table.

And whirled, twisting free of the man behind her and slamming a stiletto heel into the eye of the goon on her left with a backhand sweep of her left arm. She carried on with her right, slamming the second shoe's sharp point into the ear of the man who'd held her, followed through with a high kick that hammered the heel into the man's brain and still whirling counter-clockwise pulled her pistol from the holster on her thigh and leaped the fallen table. She shot Allison twice in the chest and once between the eyes for good measure and looked for Sark but he had buried himself under Allison's body and there was no time, so she grabbed her mother's elbow and pulled her to her feet and they ran. She could hear screaming from the club patrons, could hear the heavy boom of her father's pistol knocking the bodyguards down and clearing their path.

They ran, dodging between tables,

"This way," her mother shouted, and tugged in turn at Sydney's hand as the younger woman turned back to fire a shot or two at the pursuit, and nearly stopped in amazement as she saw Allison stand, blood still leaking down her face and chest, pushing Sark down behind her, shielding him from the gunfire as she shouted at her minions to go after Sydney. And they came, the one angrily pulling the shoe from his eye, the other from his ear, others showing the bloody effects of her father's marksmanship, but still they came.

"Sydney," her mother pulled frantically at her arm, "run, Allison won't kill us but her goons might lose control, we need to run," and they did and fast, but the guards came even faster, stumbling as Syd's bullets hit them but still coming.

They burst out into the alley,

"That way," Syd yelled, pointing in the direction of the stashed motorcycle.

But then a man loomed out of the darkness, light from the club door catching his ominously scarred visage, a slash across one cheek, a patch over one eye and a grim look in the other and Sydney raised her gun to fire….

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 1: The Retelling**


	2. Chapter 1:The Retelling

**See Prologue for Disclaimers/Warnings**

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_Power. I have it. They don't. This bothers them. _….Buffy

_Perhaps you finally understand the moral compromises you'll make when someone you love is in danger._ …. Jack Bristow

_Maybe Allison's a werewolf._ ….Agent Weiss

**Chapter 1: The Retelling**

72 (or Thereabout) HOURS EARLIER

**ROME**

Sydney Bristow walked past the apartment building a second time. She touched the key nestled in her pocket for about the four-hundredth time. At times the neighborhood seemed totally familiar, the _caffe'_ on the corner and the _pasticcerie_ next door, the _trattoria_ on the next block, the narrow street and tiny cars, the Vespas parked on the thin sidewalks, it all seemed like home.

And at other moments she told herself she was just projecting, she'd been to Rome many times, narrow streets and ancient rock buildings with shiny modern fittings, it was an old European city, of course it felt familiar. So would Seville, Barcelona, Naples, different and yet the same.

She walked on. She told herself she was just being extra cautious, watching to see if she was being followed, looking for any signs that the apartment was a trap. And so she was, being cautious, and wisely so, given that she was a fugitive… at least from the NSC, if not the entire US government, though who knew how far Lindsey's influence reached.

But she knew she was also delaying, putting off the moment. Afraid of what she would find. Of what she wouldn't.

There were two years missing from her life. She had a few vague images from dreams, a scar on her abdomen, a scrap of video showing her killing a man.

She had a name, _Julia Thorne_, that she'd learned from a vicious, if charming, career criminal. A criminal who had been Julia Thorne's partner, at least briefly. And her lover.

She had an address and an apartment key she'd obtained from Arvin Sloane, a man of true malevolence, a consummate liar and manipulator who had moved Sydney about like a pawn in a 3D chess game all her adult life, perhaps even as a child. Sure, the address on the envelope with the key in it had been written in her own handwriting, but Sloane would have had no difficulty faking that. No matter what she found in the apartment, how could she trust it not to be some setup planted by Sloane or his allies?

She also had a burning need to know. Something. _Anything._

Whatever was in the apartment, even if it was just bait, had to lead her somewhere. It was the possibility of finding nothing that really scared her, that made her hesitate.

She heard laughter and a small engine and a young couple came flying around the corner on a pink Vespa, just for a moment Syd felt the machine's headlight brush across her face, she heard the girl who was driving call out,

"Hey, Julia!" as they whizzed by.

Syd backtracked quickly, faded into a dark entryway she had just passed and hid in the shadows. Part of her wanted to run after the couple, shouting, waving, yelling, _"How do you know Julia?"_ but she knew she wasn't ready. She needed to see the apartment first, then maybe she'd go looking…

She heard the voices again, the quiet put-putting as the scooter came back past the entryway and stopped, she could hear the couple talking in Italian, the girl with a bit of an American accent, the boy a native as far as Syd was able to judge.

"It was her, I'm sure of it, her hair was all different, and her clothes too but…" the girl said.

"So she was all different, and didn't know you…."

"It was her. I'm sure of it."

"I think you're seeing things. If it was her, where is she… does she owe you money?"

"What? No. But she's always a little…. I dunno, secretive. Oh well," the girl's voice rose just a little, like she was calling out to Syd, "If she needs help she knows where to find us." Then her voice went back to normal, she said,

"So, you want to stay for dinner?"

"I don't know, is your sister home?"

"Probably. Why? She's not that bad."

"How would you know, you've never been alone with her. I mean, alone with her after you've been making out with her little sister. She's … scary."

"You big wuss."

"Easy for you to say…"

And then the scooter had revved again and turned and buzzed away and Syd eased forward and watched as they parked right in front of her building, the one she was circling. The couple talked a moment, kissed, and then the girl went inside and the boy went ambling down the sidewalk. Well, Syd thought, at least she won't be hard to find.

Syd went around again. She stopped and had an espresso she really didn't need at the café. If someone was watching her they were staying well back. Or they were already inside, waiting.

She stood and strode quickly across the street, up the two steps to the building's entrance door and the first test. The key fit, and she went inside.

She by-passed the tiny elevator and went quickly up the stairs, listening to the sounds of life, music, televisions, peoples voices, laughter here, an argument there, all muffled by thick walls and wooden doors but still there, normality emanating from the apartments she passed.

She reached the sixth and final floor and paused before the door, Julia's door. Her door. She put the key in. It fit.

The door opened on a spacious apartment, sparsely but richly furnished with a heavy emphasis on beige as a color scheme.

She stopped, stood still. Did it feel like home? … No. Not really. Not familiar. But not wrong, either, if she'd taken this apartment furnished she would have felt no burning need to change things. She didn't think her taste was quite this…. subdued, but if this had been… Julia's quiet place, a retreat, then Syd could see how she would have decorated this way. The same with the artwork on the walls, a small piece of statuary, not familiar, but, pleasant. Nothing she would have been passionate about, nothing she would have hesitated to leave. But homey.

She went into the bedroom, saw the skylight, saw the image from her dreams, the statue of an angel visible against the night sky. So that much was true at least. She'd been here at least once before.

She stripped off her coat and lay down on the bed so the statue of the angel in the sky matched the angle in her dreams, and willed more memories to come. Instead, her exhaustion overtook her excitement and, against her better judgement, she slept.

She woke with a vague sense of wrongness, she listened and heard nothing, looked around, the lights were still on, nothing specific drew her attention, above her the pigeons still shuffled about cooing softly. She went into the bathroom, washed her face and, on a sudden thought, checked the medicine cabinet, found a prescription pill bottle in the name of Julia Thorne. But before she could read the name of the medication she heard a noise behind her, she shut the cabinet and turned back, tried to fight, but they were on her, men in military garb, shouting in Italian that she was being arrested on behalf of the United States government. She struggled, but there were too many, too strong, and they forced her down on the bed and handcuffed her.

They were marching her down the stairs when the door on the fifth floor landing opened, a blonde woman in silk pajamas stepped out and looked around, eyes widening as she saw them coming down the steps.

Gruffly polite, one of the men in the lead waved the blonde woman back, ordering, "Stay inside, miss," and she raised her hands in a girly "ooh, don't mind me" gesture.

And then the lights went out.

In the sudden darkness Syd heard the familiar sounds of fists hitting flesh and bodies falling, heard grunts, gurgles, moans, a couple brief, stifled shouts and then she was free, or at least the men holding her seemed to fade away… And then she was being lifted over someone's shoulder, carried through a doorway, down a short hallway, through what felt like an open room, another doorway, a room, then she was set down in what felt like a crowded closet, and she was rolled over on her belly. Her feet were quickly tied, tight, then pulled up and tied to her handcuffs. A gag that felt rather too much like someone's rolled up sock was shoved in her mouth. Something was tied around her head to hold the gag in place. A voice whispered rather unnecessarily, "Now just be still," in English. She heard a door slide shut, heard the voice mutter something else in what sounded like Latin, and she was alone in the dark, hogtied.

As rescues go, Syd thought, she'd had better.

Alone in the dark she had time to think. She was almost sure the NSC hadn't been able to follow her so whoever ordered her arrest must have known about the apartment. So had Sloane sold her out? But why? Just to ingratiate himself with Lindsey? Not that Sloane couldn't come up with some subtle and labyrinthine plans, but sending her off to Rome just to be arrested before she learned anything seemed pointless. Or maybe it wasn't the NSC at all. She tried to remember if the men had shouted a name when they were arresting her, maybe she had triggered some sort of trap/alarm and they had come not for Sydney but for Julia.

And, more to the immediate point, who the hell had "rescued" her and how did they fit in the grand scheme? Were they Sloane's people? Lindsey's? A third player?

She heard a voice call, "Okay, Dawnie, go ahead," and the lights came on, Syd could see a thin line of illumination at the bottom of the sliding closet door.

She heard sirens coming to a stop not far away, probably just outside the building. Then voices, the clumping footsteps of men in boots, heard a woman's voice, the tone set to _very ingratiating,_

"No, thank_ you,_ officers, please look everywhere. So were they terrorists? Or a drug gang or …. Oh, no, I understand, yes, right through there."

Syd heard the footsteps coming closer, heard the door slide open, light flooded in, she twisted her head and saw the man looking down at her, then looking right, left, right at her, then shaking his head, turning away, crossing the room to open and inspect another closet, then yell out an all clear and clump away.

Whatthehell? Syd thought. He couldn't possibly have missed her, but if he was in on some scheme he sure was one hell of an actor. He had left the door open, the light still on so Syd twisted and managed to turn herself sideways so she could look around and see she was in a closet full of… swords? And crossbows. And long wooden staffs with sharpened ends. And a whole rack full of … shoes?

A door shut, silence settled, in the distance she heard engines starting, moving away. A woman's voice said,

"I think we're clear," and two women came into the room, the blonde woman from the stairs and… the girl from the Vespa.

The blonde muttered in Latin, Syd recognized the voice now, she had been the one who tied her… but surely not the person who'd carried her, she couldn't have near the strength to…

The blonde leaned over, slipped a hand under Syd's torso and lifted, carried her over and set her on the bed and began untying her feet while the other girl undid the gag and pulled out what did indeed turn out to be a sock. Syd spat cotton.

"Hey," Vespa girl said, "it could have been worse, it could have been Buffy's," and the girl turned away, spoke to the blonde, "and hey, it's your closet, how come you used my sock?"

"Well, I needed something really big…. No offense, Julia," the blonde answered.

Syd sighed with relief as she straightened her legs and hopefully held up her handcuffed wrists, the brunette reached up and pulled a hairpin, said,

"Okay Buffy, time me."

"Or," the blonde said, "we could use the key I borrowed from the nice men with guns."

"That's no fun."

"It's late. Tomorrow I'll put the cuffs on you and see how many days it takes you to get out…."

"Seconds, how many seconds," the brunette insisted.

"Tomorrow, Dawnie, right now," Buffy unlocked Syd's cuffs…and suddenly rolled her over on her back and cuffed her again with her hands in front, "we need to have a little chat with Julia."

At last count Syd had about one million four hundred and fifty two thousand six hundred and twenty-four questions to ask, but since the first one was _"Who the hell are you two?"_ she held off.

The two young women, Buffy and Dawnie, (surely that couldn't be their real names?) apparently knew her as Julia, and she had to take advantage of that…

Unless this was some sort of double-bluff, the whole capture and rescue a ruse to gain her trust. But to what end? Did someone believe she was faking the amnesia? Or did they think she knew something, without knowing she knew it, but somehow she would let it slip to sympathetic ears?

And two less likely spies she'd never met.

But that would be the genius of it, wouldn't it?

Which ruled out Lindsey, but Sloane was capable of such subtlety.

The two women, clearly sisters despite the lack of physical resemblance, did work together with, bickering aside, an efficiency that spoke of training. And even though Buffy was clearly stronger than she looked, someone else had to be in on taking out the men who'd arrested Syd. So even if they were genuine there was more here than met the eye.

And if they were real, what happened when they realized she wasn't Julia, or not exactly.

Round and round. Syd's head hurt.

She sat in the breakfast nook just off their all too cheery kitchen sipping from the bottle of mineral water Buffy had given her, watching Dawnie manufacture what Syd's father would call a Dagwood sandwich on a baguette….

"No anchovies this time, I mean it," Buffy said.

The aromas of olive oil and sausage and cheese hit Syd's nose and she tried to remember the last time she'd eaten.

"Look, Julia," Buffy said. "or whatever your name is…"

_What?! _thought Syd.

"…we never bought that art student story, I mean, for one thing you're way too good at the martial arts stuff, even gave me a decent workout sometimes when you were into it…"

What?! thought Syd. _I_ gave _her_ a decent workout?

"…so we figured you for a spy or something…"

What?! thought Syd.

"International jewel thief," Dawnie said. She finished making the sandwich and cut it in three parts and passed Buffy and Syd their shares on thick cloth napkins.

"Or something," Buffy continued," but we checked an' you didn't seem to be spying on us and you didn't show up on the evil meter…"

What?! thought Syd. _Evil meter?_

"…and we pretty much have a sailor vee policy on humans…"

"Mmphlastmspfar!" Dawnie said, emitting a fine spray of choice Italian cheese and sausage particles. She chewed and swallowed. _"Laissez-faire_ policy."

"What'd I say?"

_"C'est la vie,"_ said Dawnie.

"What's the difference?"

_"C'est la vie,"_ said Dawnie, with exaggerated patience, "is what you say when you have to dump another cute boy 'cause he's too chicken too have dinner with your sister. _Laissez-faire_ is when you _don't_ sneak in and cut up all your sister's _D & G_ 'cause she's always scaring off your boyfriends."

"Well, you don't want to date someone who's too chicken to even face me."

"Well, yeah, but you could at least let me have little fun before you expose their hidden chickeness…, chickenosity…, chickenalia, eww, that just sounds wrong, … chickenism… whatever."

"It's not like I beat them up or anything…."

Syd eyed the doorway and began to calculate the odds of escaping if she just ran for it.

Buffy turned back to Syd, "Where was I, oh, yeah, the whole lazy friar thing, and you were always fun to go shopping or hit a club with, so don't ask, don't tell right? But then we heard all those commando types sneaking up to your apartment, and I kind of have a kick ass first and ask questions later policy with commando types…."

What?! thought Syd.

"…But those were actually those hairy carbine guys…"

"_Carabinieri,"_ Dawnie supplied.

"… which I guess are actual cops and everything. I think we convinced them we were just weak and helpless little girls, but if they're going to be hanging around I think we need to know why, so I guess we gotta ask and you gotta tell."

Syd took a big bite of her sandwich to stall for time. She noticed Dawnie was staring at her.

"Buffy," Dawnie said. "I don't think that's Julia."

Oh shit, thought Syd.

"What do you mean. Sure it is. Just with really bad hair…"

"Yeah, I know, she looks just like her, but I don't think she knows us. She has that look on her face people get when they meet you for the first time."

"What look?"

"_That_ look. Like someone just whacked them with a marshmallow sledgehammer. Look," Dawnie said, staring levelly at Syd. "What's my name?"

"Dawmmmphy," Syd mumbled with her cheeks full. Dawn smiled, and shook her head, waited. Syd swallowed, said, "Dawnie," and realized, just a little too late that she'd made a mistake, but tried to soldier on, "Dawn."

"And her name?"

"Buffy."

"And her last name?"

Syd sagged. "I don't remember," she said, fighting back the tears she felt welling.

"See?" Dawn said, "Not Julia. Julia never forgot anything."

Buffy stood then, leaned in toward Syd who felt a sudden sympathy for Dawni… _Dawn_'s erstwhile boyfriends. The short blonde's eyes were ice cold, and there was something else, a sense of power that shouldn't have come from such a small body but nevertheless seemed to press down on Syd's weary frame like a second atmosphere,

"So who the hell are you, then?" Buffy said.

"My name is Ellen Ferguson," she said, giving them the name off the passport Vaughn had arranged to have left for her. "But I think I'm also Julia Thorne. I just don't remember."

She saw the two sisters share a look, a shrug, seemingly more ready to accept her story as plausible than she could have possibly hoped.

"Tell us," Dawn said.

So she told them the truth.

For a certain value of "truth."

She told them she worked as an analyst for the State Department, she told them her best friend turned out to be a double agent, leaving out the whole "doubled" agent part. She told them about the big fight, saw Buffy nodding like the story sounded familiar to her somehow.

She told them about waking up in Hong Kong. And because suddenly she couldn't help herself, because she'd never had a chance to tell someone who didn't already know the story, who didn't have their own agenda, who would just listen with genuine sympathy… Evil dentists torturing her for intel she could resist but Dawn's wide blue eyes were something else. She told them about Vaughn, feeling the tears flowing down her cheeks though she was able to fight back the urge to completely breakdown and sob.

"So like," Dawn said, "one day you're planning wild monkey sex in Santa Barbera and the next day he's married to someone else? That sucks."

Syd laughed despite her tears, nodded. "For me it was one day. For him, two years."

"Still sucks," Dawn said, and actually came over and gave her a hug.

"So," Buffy said, "you have no actual memory of being Julia Thorne?" She'd eased back a little, not big with the sympathy like Dawn, but the overt hostility was gone.

"None. But you seemed to recognize me as her. And you're not the only ones." She told them about meeting Simon. She left out the Simon-being-a-criminal parts, the stealing necklaces, stealing bioweapons and knifing Vaughn parts… It was kind of a short story, told that way.

"You know who would know for sure," Dawn said. "Doctor Ziti."

"In the morning," Buffy said.

Syd found Mr. Spock in all his cardboard cutout life-size glory waiting to greet her when she was ushered into the room at the end of the hall. There was a bed with a Spiderman counterpane. One corner of the room was taken up with computers, one wall with a collection of "action figures" and comic books, Michelangelo's _"Deathstar Under Attack"_ covered the ceiling, the cantina scene covered another wall.

"Sorry about this," Buffy said as she waved her hand near an alien imbiber's nose and the wall containing the cantina scene slid back to reveal a steel cage big and strong enough to contain a grizzly bear. "But I don't think I trust you enough to let you run free and I suspect if I just handcuffed you to the bed you'd be loose in minutes, so…."

Syd turned, tensed, readying for the right moment to kick out and make a run for it when Buffy's hand tightened on her arm, her fingers like steel claws in plush velvet. Syd jerked her arm and…. Nothing. Buffy tightened a little more, Syd could feel the bone start, ever so slightly, to give. Buffy, she suddenly realized, could crumple her arm like Syd could crumple an aluminum can.

"You wouldn't stand a chance, Jul…. Ellen. Please don't make me prove it."

Dawn came in then with a thin mattress, pillows and sleeping bag, she blocked Syd's view and punched a code into the lock, opened the cage and went in and made up a bed on the floor.

"Don't worry, Ellen," Dawn said once she was out and Syd was locked inside the cage, "It's not as a sinister as it seems, really. You're safe here. Hold out your hands." Syd did and Dawn unlocked the handcuffs. "No promises, but we have some friends who might be able to help with the memory loss, depending on what caused it. I'll see you in the morning, you want the wall shut or can you stand the wonder of Andrew's décor?"

"Leave it open, please," Syd asked.

She could hear their voices as the sisters went back down the hall.

"Where is Andrew, anyway?"

"At Timothy's. He doesn't dump his boyfriends just because they're scared of me."

"Andrew has different standards."

"Yes, well, you may have to give up on this 'Brave as Xander,' standard. Maybe settle for 'Better dancer than Xander,' or 'Has more eyes than Xander.' "

"Yeah, but then I'd be dating your boyfriends."

"You wish."

Syd waited for what she estimated was long enough for the girls to go to sleep, then got up and, using her belt buckle, went to work on the lock. Because she had little light and she was trying very, very carefully to be absolutely quiet it took her nearly three minutes to work the cover off the keypad and cross the wires and let herself out. It was a solid but very simple lock, clearly not meant to contain anyone with any real training. She wondered briefly who, or what, it was meant to contain. She moved silently across the room and opened a window and peered carefully out. She could go this way, there was a narrow ledge and a balcony just a few feet further on, and a balcony above that, she could make the roof and be gone. Come back in a few days with equipment to sense any electronic traps waiting in Julia Thorne's apartment.

She hesitated. She could go… where? Contacting her father now would only put him in danger. She'd found what she'd come for, more than she'd hoped for, really. People who knew her as Julia, people who seemed willing to help because… Because that's what they did. Tiny kung fu masters who kicked commando ass on principle, had mysterious closets full of weapons that police couldn't see into and giant steel cages, and bickered over boyfriends and whether or not to put anchovies on sandwiches.

Syd had nothing left to lose, really. Her life, but if they'd wanted to kill her they could have done that by now. She knew she should lock herself back in the cage, hide the fact that she could escape it, just in case that came in handy later, but she'd been pushed around all day, one way or another and she needed to assert at least a little independence. She stripped down to her underwear, hung her clothes on the 3d model of Darth Vader and his fully erect light saber, crawled into bed with Spiderman and was almost instantly asleep, dreaming of kindly Doctor Ziti who would come in the morning and tell her who she was.

**-30-**

Next: **Chapter 2: There's a delegation a-coming **


	3. Chapter 2: There's a delegation acoming

**A/N:** See Prologue for Disclaimers/Warnings

**Vaughn:** _You're being investigated by the DSR. _  
**Sydney:** _DSR? _  
**Vaughn:** _Department of Special Research. It was created during World War II to investigate Nazi interest in the occult. _

_Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business. _**Tom Robbins**

**Chapter 2: There's a delegation a-coming.**

**216 (or Therabout) HOURS EARLIER**

**HAVANA**

And then, suddenly, they were there, in her back yard.

Just as Dayami had been told they would be. Still, it was one thing to be told people would be appearing out of thin air in your backyard, it was another to see it happen.

Okay, _Tia_ Laline, you win, I believe in magic now, Dayami thought. Not that she'd been a complete unbeliever, she'd seen things, fires started, people grow sick and well as they pissed off and appeased a _bruja_ in her aunt's circle. She'd seen brooms float, and late at night when the wind was blowing she believed. But her husband would laugh at her, talk of fuses and powers of suggestion or even a little poison and in the light of day she laughed at herself.

Besides, her husband had said, if these witches have so much power, why do they still slave in the kitchen, why do they let their daughters serve cocktails to tourists? And who could argue with that.

But now her husband was dead … the damn busybodies could point out that his body had never been found and think _Miami _all they wanted, she knew he was dead, knew it by the cold place in her soul. She'd adjusted. Sometimes the whole world just changed. Javier was gone. New world. Darker world.

So. People, and not just people, but a monstrous huge motorcycle as well had just appeared in her yard. Magic was real. The world had changed again. Lighter, darker, she didn't know yet.

_Friends of the Red Witch._ She wondered if they had any idea the furor they had caused, were causing.

Dayami herself had been given just six hours to evict the pleasant, if in this case a little put out, German couple who had been occupying her guestroom. To clean the house from top to bottom, put fresh flowers in the room, lay in a stock of beer and Cokes. Of course the old biddies making these demands had known for twenty-four hours, but naturally there had been a battle royale over who would have the privilege of forcing an over-worked younger relative to do a favor for the Red Witch. Whoever the hell this Red Witch was she must be something, Dayami thought, apparently having her owe you one is better than winning the lottery.

Which also meant that Dayami had gotten a forty-five minute lecture from her aunt on how terribly important it was not to insult or piss off in any way these mysterious "friends."

Dayami knew why she'd been chosen. That she spoke fluent English was important, of course, but she was young, pretty, a widow with two children young enough to be adorable and old enough to shut up and go away when they were told to. Of course she would not be expected to provide anything more than pleasant company… unless of course he was handsome and she felt so inclined. On the other hand, one of the biddies whispered, rumor had it the Red Witch liked girls, so who knew what to expect from her friends. Still, all genders liked a little eye candy across the dinner table. If more than that was required, Dayami had plenty of _jineteras_ in her rolodex eager to do her aunt a favor. In any case, her aunt said, it wouldn't hurt to smarten yourself up a little Dayita, smile a little. Be friendly. Life goes on. Sometimes it gets better.

Of course probably all it was was that this Red Witch had called the friend of a friend to get a recommendation for a guesthouse for a friend of a friend… and all this frantic preparation was pointless. They would probably move out in a couple days and go to one of the air-conditioned hotels anyway.

But at the moment they were standing in her backyard, looking the other way, probably wondering if they had poofed into existence in quite the right place. There were two people, one rather tall man, dressed in full tourist regalia, khaki pants and Hawaiian shirt and she sighed, but then took in the heavy walking stick and the bulk of his shoulders and decided her standard watch-out-for-pick-pockets lecture would not be necessary. The woman was dressed in black leather that Dayami knew she would soon regret in the heat and humidity of Cuba, but it was clear that the watch-out-for-bag-snatcher's lecture wouldn't be needed either.

"Dude," the woman said, "we're here. Beats the hell out of flying coach, that's for damn sure."

Dayami stepped forward, said,_ "Bienvenido a Cuba." _

The man turned, looked down at her, said with a terrible accent, _"Gracias, habla ingles?" _and Dayami had to fight not to step back. He had an eyepatch and a wicked scar on his cheek, and yeah, he wasn't going to have any problem with petty thieves.

"Yes, I speak English," she answered and he sighed with obvious relief and said,

"Oh, thank god," and grinned and Dayami suddenly knew it was going to be all right.

"I am Dayami," she added

"Xander," he replied, holding out his hand to shake hers, "and this is Faith."

Dayami turned toward the woman and quickly realized that not only would her services as eye candy and pimp not be needed, any suggestions of that nature could possibly be fatal.

"Hey," Faith said.

Dayami tried to take their bags, one small suitcase and a heavy looking duffel, but Faith insisted on taking them herself. Dayami was surprised, it was unusual for a yanqui to be so willing to let his woman do the heavy lifting but then she noticed his limp and understood. She led them up to their room, explained the eccentricities of the plumbing, pleased that they seemed totally unfazed by the limited hot water… with tourists you never knew what would set them off. Faith had already lost the leather jacket and was sprawled out on the bed, Dayami went to move the duffel back to the waiting luggage rack and found she could barely lift it, decided she didn't want to know and let it be.

She explained that there would be a delegation from the local wiccan group arriving in hour, and apologized when she saw the look of pain cross Faith's face, and offered to try to put them off. But Xander had laughed, patted her shoulder, said it was no problem, just to let them know a few minutes in advance. Dayami thanked him, and backed out of the room, hearing Faith say as she closed the door,

"C'mere, baby, let's get this party started," and she heard the springs squeak as she reached the top step and smiled, planning to enjoy telling her aunt that the friends of the Red Witch had set a new record and one not likely to be broken.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The open window called to her.

In prison Faith had thought she'd learned to control the whole need to hunt thing. (B could call it 'patrolling' all she wanted, for Faith it had always been and always would be a hunt.) And when she'd first got out she'd been busy, between The Beast and Angelus, the whole First thing, the issue didn't come up. But then when things quieted down and she was with Wood she realized that the inner slayer had just been hibernating in prison, but now that it was out in the world again, had tasted dust again, it was back stronger than ever, with time to make up. She realized that, if she had to she could put it down hard and hold it, but she couldn't just turn it on and off.

She felt Xander shift slightly in the bed beside her. It had always upset Wood, when she'd gone out hunting after sex, he took it as criticism of his cocksmanship or stamina or something and she could never make him understand that yeah, while slaying made her horny it wasn't a substitute, wasn't the same thing, both urges yeah, but different. Linked, maybe. A good fuck made her feel good, she felt good, she felt like getting a good slay in. She had a good slay, she felt good, she felt like a good fuck. 'Course, if she had a lousy fuck, then she felt like getting a good slay in to make her feel better, an if she went hunting and didn't get a good slay it left her all horny too, so… basically she liked to fuck and she liked to slay and if a guy couldn't handle that…

She figured Xander of all people might be able to understand, but still this was their first night here, their first on their 'vacation,' she didn't want to push it. He shifted again and she realized he was leaning up on one elbow looking down at her.

"Just promise me if you run into a big nest, or some beast you don't recognize, you come back and get me and we'll make a plan, okay?"

Damn. She wasn't sure yet whether she liked it when he read her mind like that, or whether she hated it. It scared her a little, either way.

"You sure," she said, sitting up, "you don't mind…"

"Faith," he said, "despite that one incident which was totally blown out of proportion, I'm pretty much a one woman guy, well, one at a time anyway, and I'm really hoping you're ready to be one too. Not so much with the one woman thing but more the just Xander thing…"

"Baby, you know it," she said, leaning in for a quick kiss.

"Umm, well, good," he paused, smiling, "but I still think, that you know, we should agree that both of us are allowed to stake other people."

"Smartass," she said and pushed him down.

"Not to go all Watcher on you," he said as she was dressing, "but I don't think there's been a slayer on this island for a long time…

"So, I'll just catch them by surprise, it'll be fun."

"…yeah, maybe. But we haven't heard anything about Cuba being some kind of vamp playground either, so that means there some kind of control going on, a master vamp maybe, some local demon lord…"

"Xan, it's not like it's my first time, okay? Don't get all…"

"Okay, okay, " he said, "I know. You're never really gonna be part of one of my little slayer squads. I get that. Just remember, you're not alone, okay? You need backup, I got your backup, it's just a phone call away. That whole die young part of being a slayer, that's over."

"Okay, just as long as I still get to live fast and play hard, I'm five by five."

"I think that can be arranged. Oh, yeah, speaking of arrangements, I spoke to Dayami, we get twenty-four hour kitchen privileges, and she was gonna leave a couple sandwiches in the fridge."

She gave him another quick kiss, went out onto the little stone balcony overlooking the street, leapt up and squatted a moment on the railing, breathing in the warm air, the smells of ocean and city, the whole …tropical… feel that was somehow different from anything she'd felt before.

There was gonna be vamps, then there was gonna be food and Xander waiting for her in bed. Life was good.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What the hell did you bring to my house?" Dayami demanded when her aunt arrived in the morning. The witch's face tightened into the 'Don't take that tone with _me,'_ look that would usually back even Dayami down, but not this time. She'd been mad the night before when her aunt had managed to slip away, and her anger had only grown since as she waited her aunt to appear, knowing her curiosity wouldn't let her stay away.

The 'little delegation' that had come to meet the Red Witch's friends had not been _Tia_ Laline's usual circle of bickering _bruja's_ as Dayami had expected. They'd come too, of course, try and stop them, but Professor Guzman and Señora Miranda had been there, both from Santería factions who hated each other, and of course hated her aunt as well. And Madame Sierra who never went anywhere. And a couple other pompous sorts Dayami didn't know but could tell they were used to being the most important person in the room and didn't like to share.

In a nutshell, people who couldn't stand each other, all dressed up, on their best behavior, grim and expectant. There was more going on here than a few small time witches trying to curry favor with a powerful foreign wicca and Dayami wanted to know what.

It was her house, her children lived there.

The "friends" had seemed just as surprised as Dayami with the formal, even urgent tone of the meeting, Xander using her as a translator clearly trying to emphasize the vacation aspect of their visit, with polite good nature but still with some firmness, insisting, repeating his mantra, _"el ron, la playa, la musica, bailar."_ While the woman, Faith, stood back, watching, a little suspicious, a little bit amused, clearly aware of but indifferent to the sneaking glances sent her way.

Fortunately, when the group had realized they weren't going to get whatever it was they'd been expecting they'd left with reasonable speed and Dayami with two guests more puzzled then annoyed, the woman asking outright,

"What the hell was that all about?" but easily accepting Dayami's shrug.

"I dunno," Xander had answered, "probably just wanted to make sure we didn't bring Will with us in a bad mood or anything."

He'd taken her aside then and shook his head when Dayami had, as her aunt had insisted, tried to refuse payment. He'd insisted on paying half again her usual room and board rate, provided she allow them to raid the kitchen anytime and made sure there were some sandwiches ready every night. He'd asked for a recommendation for dinner and music, turned to go, then stopped, said very quietly,

"Dayami, those people, tell them if they need something, they can ask, we'll help if we can. But we're not here on any … mission or anything. Faith likes the rum, so we came here to have a good time. That's all. Don't wait up."

So she'd relaxed a little, they'd come back around midnight, laughing, and made noisy love that made her think of Javier and grow wistful and so she had had to get out of bed and go into the front room and read little before wistful turned into tears again. Which is why she was sitting by the window in the front room when the woman jumped down from the balcony, landed on the cobbles like a cat, and ran off down the street. In the morning the two big cuban sandwiches she'd left were gone and four empty beer bottles sat on the counter.

"What the hell did you bring to my house?" Dayami demanded glaring at her aunt until the woman gave in and whispered,

"Are they here?"

"No, they went off this morning on that huge motorcycle. Now tell me."

"Tell you what? " her aunt shot back, "You don't believe. You think we're just a bunch of silly old women."

"That was before people started materializing in front of me. Tell me."

Laline sighed. "We don't know," she said softly. "The old one's are nervous, Madame Sierra had a vision of a woman warrior but she could not see her face. Or she had many faces, it's not clear. There is a certain … man of evil whose name you do not need to know, who believes in a prophecy that a chosen one will come and grant him a great power and his thugs have been … very visible lately. So when the Red Witch called and said she was sending two of her people here we thought… perhaps some great event was looming. But last night…. Perhaps they just don't trust us. That's wise, I don't trust Guzman myself. Or Miranda. Have you cleaned the room yet?"

"No, why?"

"I want some of that woman's hair, just to run a few tests." Dayami led her aunt upstairs, opened the room and followed her in, stayed by the bed waiting while Laline checked the bathroom for a used hairbrush. Dayami had long ago grown bored with snooping in her guest's luggage, but this time the heavy duffel called to her and she crossed to it, hesitated a moment, then undid the thick zipper.

"_Tia_ Laline," she called, "I don't know if this Faith is your warrior or not, but she certainly came ready for a fight."

Her aunt had come and looked down at the collection of swords and knives and wooden stakes, a few more esoteric weapons.

"Dayita," she said softly, "I need you to keep a close eye on them. Be their friend, especially the woman's." She paused. "I hope in time you will understand and forgive me for not telling you before, but I know your Javier is truly dead. And I know who killed him. And what you see here, little one, is your revenge."

**-30-**

Next: **Chapter 3: The Crystal**


	4. Chapter 3: The Crystal

See Prologue for Disclaimers/Warnings

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_Pistols were drawn -- the men being aged fifty-eight and thirty six respectively -- and shots were fired but only a passer-by was injured._  
Paul Johnson; _History of the American People_

_We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be._  
Kurt Vonnegut, _Mother Night_

Sydney:_ I know. I hate it, too. But after Danny and what happened to you, I've accepted the fact that it's as a gesture of love to deceive the people I care about. _

Chapter 3: The Crystal

LOS ANGELES

Anyone not familiar with Marshall's idea of subtlety might have thought he was suffering a mild epileptic seizure but Vaughn recognized the "we have to talk" signal. Trying to show no sign of movement above the conference table, he reached out and kicked Marshal in the shin. He watched the hurt expression turn slowly into understanding. With communications technology Marshall was pure genius, with simple human communication, not so much. Vaughn just hoped Lindsey was too busy fuming to notice the exchange.

Lauren Reed had just reported on the failed arrest of Sydney Bristow in a Rome apartment. According to the Italian authorities Agent Bristow had been located and arrested per the NSC request, but had been extracted when a large group of armed men had ambushed the arresting officers. Injuries where minimal as the attackers had apparently used non-lethal weaponry, rubber bullets and tasers, but the current whereabouts of Agent Bristow was unknown, as were the identities of the attackers.

The Italians were apologetic, but also noted that in future that they would appreciate being apprised when significant opposition action was likely.

Jack was taking the opportunity to stick the needle in, smugging, "And since, per your orders, this facility was in complete lockdown during the entire operation clearly none of us could have participated in this ambush…"

Vaughn thought Lindsey's head was going to explode. He wished. That would solve so many problems.

Well, maybe not _solve,_ exactly. He and Syd had come _thisclos_e to kissing before he'd put her on the plane to Rome and Lauren didn't deserve that. He didn't even think he wanted that, not anymore, not if it meant treating Lauren badly…that would poison whatever he had with Syd. Besides, life with Lauren was good, had been good until Syd came back. Even after. But now… they needed time together, apart from the agency, time to make Lauren understand that he would have done the same for Weiss, or Marshall, maybe even Jack, although without the thisclose-to-kissing part. Not about love but loyalty to the people you trust. Or maybe not trust but people you know deserve better than to be at the mercy of the likes of Robert Lindsey.

Time to convince himself that that's all it was.

And Lauren would say, what about loyalty to your wife?

Vaughn had a sinking feeling that in the end he would lose them both and… end up like Jack. He shuddered.

Lindsey was rescinding the lockdown, dismissing the meeting, then stomping away with Lauren in tow. Vaughn waited a decent interval, then gathered up a camouflaging file folder and slipped into Marshall's cluttered electronic toyroom of an office.

Jack was already there. Vaughn's eyes met his and they exchanged the intel that neither had arranged the ambush,

"Sloane?" Vaughn mouthed silently and Jack shrugged and turned back to Marshall who was explaining in tones far more impressed than offended that someone had hacked the CIA and downloaded Sydney's files…

"I only noticed because I've got a special flag on Syd's file, and yours of course, Mr. Bristow, that lets me know if anyone accesses them, and I still haven't figured out how they got in but they just bypassed the firewalls like they weren't even there and…"

"Were you able to trace the hacker?" Jack interrupted.

"Only back to an anonymizing ISP in Moscow, so they could have come from anywhere, but, here's the thing, I don't know if this is good or bad, but they didn't access the file until about eight hours after Syd was taken…"

"Thanks, Marshall," Jack said and left the office with Vaughn trailing,

"What now?" he asked.

"I'm going to Rome," Jack said.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"What I want, Mr. Vaughn, is for you to stay close to your wife and learn everything you can about the NSC's actions pertaining to Sydney, and keep me informed. What you actually do is, of course, up to you."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

ROME

Syd was woken by a whining voice.

"There's a woman in my bed," it said.

"See that's the problem with the world," another voice answered from down the hall, "Asset distribution. The one guy in this building who wouldn't be thrilled to find Julia in his bed, and where does she end up?"

"That's Julia? What happened to her hair?" The whining voice moved away, "And what's the deal, that last flight of stairs just one too many?"

"Long story Andrew. Now, are you gonna shut up and make breakfast or are we gonna reconsider that Boba Fett tossing contest…."

"Okay, okay, just asking, geez. It's just my _bed._"

Syd sat up, rubbing at her eyes, letting the last night's events flow back into her mind. Rome, the cage, spiderman sheets. Light, traffic in the street outside, morning, still alive.

Dawn poked her head in through the open door and said, "Oh, good, you're awake," and bounced in and dumped an armload of clothing on the bed. "I went upstairs and got you some things." She went over and inspected the broken lock on the cage, "So first, you're gonna show me how you did this, and then you're gonna fix it, right?"

"Yes. Of course," Syd answered, looking up from the pile of bright and rather flimsy fabric to see Dawn watching her, grinning.

"Yeah," she said, "You ….Julia was always with the bright colors and the tight tops and short skirts and the boots. The big sunglasses and the white blonde hair… you always made quite the impression. So, I'm thinking now, protective coloring, maybe?"

"Dawn, I really don't remember."

"Okay. Well, look. We were never really best friends. You're older of course, and always, you know, holding back something. And to be fair, so was I, but we hung out some. Watched movies, went to a few parties. You and ... you used to come down, have a lazy Sunday afternoon picnic. I think you're a nice person."

Dawn came over to the bed, picked up one the short skirts and held it up to her hips, modeling, laughed.

"But, well, you were more my friend than Buffy's, plus Buffy… she doesn't have a lot of patience these days. Piss her off and she's pretty much done with you. I understand that in your business lying and keeping secrets is not so much second nature as first nature. But it you want us to help you, you kinda need to be straight with us. We're pretty good at keeping secrets if we have to. Okay, bathroom is first door on the right, I think I got some sweats and a couple dark tanks in there if you don't feel up to the mini-skirts. Have a nice hot shower, Sydney, think about what I said and we'll talk after breakfast."

She was in the shower, luxuriating in the hot water when it hit her that Dawn had used her real name.

Syd stared into the mirror and thought about how Dawn didn't know the half of it, secrets and lying not being just Syd's business but her life.

She thought of lazy Sunday afternoons she'd spent with Will and Francie and a felt a literal, physical pain in her chest. Her secrets had gotten Francie killed and destroyed Will's life, and she was not even going near that walled off cold place in her heart where Danny was embalmed.

And in return for all the sacrifice… life as a fugitive, fleeing from the same government she'd given her life to defending.

She thought of Dawn's idle words, "we hung out some," and imagined her other self, Julia, eating antipasto and laughing, girltalk with Dawn the Sarcastic and Buffy Malaprop and Syd desperately hoped it was so, but she was simply incapable of believing anything, of taking anything at face value.

So. Lie down and die or get on with the game. Time to ante up.

Somehow they knew her real name, nothing to lose by telling them what they already knew, she'd call and raise and maybe bluff the pot. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath and marched out to join Buffy in the breakfast nook, she said,

"My name is Sydney Bristow. I work for the CIA. I was being arrested because the NSC, a rival agency, believes, with some reason, that Julia Thorne killed a Russian diplomat. They believe I am Julia Thorne and they want to subject me to invasive brain surgery that might restore my memory, but might also cause permanent brain damage. So I ran. That's the truth. You can ask me anything, except the names of other agents."

Buffy stared at her moment over her coffee cup, eyes still cold. And then, she yawned.

"So, Sydney," she said, "how do you like your eggs?"

And then suddenly it was all happy families, she was introduced to Andrew and was graciously forgiven for daring to disturb his heroic sheets. Dawn returned with the morning papers, hot croissants, and a rather handsome, in a bookish way, forty-some man named Carlo and a big black cat that insisted on taking up residence in Syd's lap, demanding she tithe ten percent of her breakfast.

The talk was of the news, and Carlo's students, he taught biology at a private _licei._ And of Dawn's classes, Carlo gently mocking the usefulness of studying ancient languages and cultures in what was clearly an ongoing, long-term debate.

Then when the food was thoroughly decimated, Carlo thanked and complimented Andrew and rose to leave and Syd moved to hand him back his cat and felt the animal's claws dig gently but firmly into her clothes and, just a bit, her skin. Carlo paused, looked at her closely, his eyes going slowly sad,

"You really don't remember, do you? I thought perhaps… No matter." His voice turned jolly, just a little forced, "But I must warn you, my lady," he said, "_Il Dottore_ will be attached to you for the next day or two at least. Often literally."

"_Il Dottore?_" Syd asked when Carlo was gone and the cat was riding now on her shoulders like a live stole.

Dawn smiled, "Meet the one and only Doctor Ziti, pasta connoisseur and Julia fancier, living proof that you Sydney Bristow are in fact Julia Thorne, catperson."

"I own a cat?"

"Half a cat. Which half is often subject to debate but Carlo claims the other share."

"Do I," Syd asked shyly, "Did Julia… share anything … else with Carlo?"

"Oh, yeah," Buffy said, "you could say that. And you did. Sometimes at length… And I really just said that, didn't I?"

"But don't feel too bad, Sydney," Dawn interjected, "it's not exclusive, he's not exactly lonely when you're gone and you, well, Julia… was only lonely when she wanted to be, you know?"

Oh great, Syd thought, my alter ego is a murderous slut, with half a pet cat and a teenager's wardrobe.

"Okay," Buffy said, "enough about the cat and … other stuff. Now, give us the real Sydney Bristow story."

So she told them the truth.

For a certain value of "truth."

She told them about her father but she left her mother dead. She told them about SD-6 and Sloane but left Danny out of the story, she told them about Will and Francie, lingering there because she felt Buffy's sympathy grow, feeling a slight twinge of guilt for using them this way, but, as always, she did what was necessary. She told them a little of Rambaldi, noticing Dawn's interest suddenly grow, which worried her a little.

And then she was done and she watched the sisters sharing a look, Dawn giving a slight shrug and a so-so motion with her hand, Buffy considered for a moment then seemed to decide something then turned to Andrew, said,

"You up for this, Andrew?" and he sighed, pouted.

"Of course, I live to serve."

"All right, then," Buffy said, "let's go upstairs, Andrew, call us when you're ready."

And then they were upstairs at the door of Julia's apartment and Syd felt her suspicions growing again as Dawn pulled out a little electronic gizmo that looked like it could have come out of Marshall's lab. According to Dawn, it located and neutralized an electronic sensor on the door, then once inside, located and killed a microphone in each room. And if it actually worked that well, Marshall might even be jealous. Not the sort of gadget your average student of ancient cultures kept handy.

No, Dawn assured her, it wouldn't send up any red flags, the microphones just wouldn't know they were there.

"How…" started Syd.

"Magic," Dawn answered with a smile.

The sisters stood back and let her search, even Doctor Ziti released his hold on her neck and allowed her to put him down while she lingered over the books, mostly European fiction, some history. They let her contemplate the clothes she found, not quite as dominated by short skirts as Dawn had implied but still, not really the combination of business attire and casual jeans and shirts Syd would normally wear at home. Maybe it was just living in Rome rather than California. But it struck her that these were the sort of clothes she would linger over in a store, then dismiss and buy another pale sweater, telling herself she got enough of playing dress-up on the job.

It was the cat, entangling himself in her feet, then sniffing curiously at the back wall that made her look more closely, until she found the hidden switch, heard the click, felt the back of the closet shift a little. Syd thought for a moment of pretending it hadn't happened, she'd come back later, alone… but as she glanced back she saw Buffy watching her and knew somehow that Buffy had heard the click as well and this was another test.

She slid the false back aside and revealed the hidden compartment.

There were weapons. Three rifles, two shotguns, an Uzi machine pistol, a nine millimeter automatic, two revolvers, one massive, one of the snub-nosed variety. A small assortment of disguised low caliber guns, in a pen, in a cell phone, a pack of cigarettes. There were three stun guns and a pistol that fired tranquilizer darts, as did, on closer inspection, one of the rifles.

There was a selection of knives, two sais, two telescoping batons, a handful of shurikens. There were ropes and grappling hooks and other climbing gear. Kevlar vests. A couple jumpsuits, one black, one camo. Night vision goggles.

Dawn came up beside her, poked her head in, squealed. "Oh my god!"

_Oh, shit,_ thought Syd.

"This is so cool!" said Dawn. "May I?"

"What? Sure," Syd mumbled.

There was a selection of wigs and a small case that turned out to hold a high quality make-up kit.

There was a file cabinet and Syd's heart raced. This would be the mother lode.

But it was empty, and her heart sank, but she reached in, felt around, found the small envelope taped to the inside top of the file.

Typed on the outside: _Sydney, if you forget._

Her heart racing again. She opened the envelope.

And found a small piece of paper with a series of numbers that looked similar to the one that had come with the key, giving the encrypted address to this apartment.

Her mother's cipher, that only her father could decode.

Time stopped for a little while, Syd's head was spinning. Why… just, why, why why?

"Keeeeyah!" came a scream behind her and Syd jolted out of her reverie and whirled to see a brightly red-haired Dawn doing… what were actually some fairly impressive moves with her … with Julia's sais.

Who the hell were these people?

Buffy answered her cell, spoke briefly, then casually reached out to disarm Dawn, twirled one of the sais and used the tip to remove the wig and handed all three weapons back to Syd, she said,

"Andrew's ready for you."

Syd put the wig and sais back in place and hesitated, longing to take a weapon but wondering… as if reading her mind Buffy spoke behind her,

"The guns stay here, anything else, if it will make you feel more comfortable, go ahead, but no guns in my house."

Syd's eyes lingered on the knives for a moment, then stepped back and slid the secret panel shut.

They stopped on the landing outside the Summers' apartment.

"I need to send a message…" Syd started but Buffy held up her hand, said,

"Sorry, Jul … Sydney, we've got kind of a time limit here. Just give us another hour and you'll be free to do whatever, okay? Now, Andrew's going to be… acting even a little weirder than usual, like maybe he's stoned but it's not that, just trust me. Just go along with whatever he asks…"

"Unless he asks you to dress up like Princess Leia or something, 'cause you totally don't have to do that," Dawn interrupted.

"Yeah, okay, but if he asks you to walk around him or stand in front of a window or in the dark, do it. And he's going to want to you take him back up stairs, just, act like you're his seeing eye dog or something, okay? Dawn and I will be at the café on the corner…."

"Why…"

"We just…. don't want to know what he'll see if looks at… either of us just now. Long story. See you in an hour."

Inside the apartment Syd could smell incense. She found Andrew standing in a the center of a sand circle, wearing a hat and cloak last seen on Gandalf the grey, with staff in one hand and the other upraised,

"Oh mysterious lady of many names and faces," he said in whatever the squeaky nasal equivalent of "intoned" is, "be still and I shall search thee for signs of sorcery and enchantment…"

"What the… "

"Be still, o' seeking one, and let me gaze upon you for... Oh shit. That looks…ewww. Ew. Ew. _Ew._"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

LONDON

"Buffy," Giles said, "how nice to hear your voice."

"Giles!" Buffy's voice trilled on the speaker phone. "How's your sex life?"

"You know," Giles said, "someday when you least expect it I'm going to answer that question, and then you'll be sorry."

"Hah, I'm all sophisticated and European now. I can totally deal with old people sex and that weird milk that lasts forever and everything."

"I'm so happy to hear it. How is Dawn…"

The chatted for awhile longer then got down to business. She gave him some names to check out, Sydney Bristow, Jack Bristow, Michael Vaughn, Marshall Flinkman, Arvin Sloane, Irina Derevko…. Well, now, Giles' thought, now it gets interesting. Milo Rambaldi.

"Oh, dear."

"What?" Buffy whined. "You said 'oh, dear.' You're not supposed to say 'oh, dear.' You're supposed to say, 'I'm sure it's nothing but we'll get right on it, have a nice weekend.'"

"It's Tuesday."

"So not the point."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

"Well, it's too late now…. What is it?"

"Well, those old people having sex you are so totally handling. How old did you have in mind? In centuries?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

ROME

"It's magic," Buffy said. "Someone put a spell on you."

A feeling of pure horror invaded Syd's mind, ran down her back, made her whole body shudder.

She reached back and grasped the cat by the scruff and held him in front of her face, said, "Look, you, cat, Doctor, whatever, I'm your own personal palanquin, I accept that, but lick inside my ear again and you'll be my own personal …. dead cat. Got it?"

I'm talking to a cat, Syd thought. It wasn't that Syd particularly disliked animals, it was just that… talking to one had never occurred to her before. She thought she understood now, though, why people talked to animals. It was so much safer than talking to people. Some people, anyway. She dropped the cat back on her shoulder, turned back to Buffy,

"Magic. You don't expect me to believe that, do you?"

"No, not really. Doesn't matter if you believe it. Andrew put himself in a trance so he could see any active magic. He could see the spell, he said it was like a grey spider made of smoke, sitting in your skull. So, you know, don't take it personally if he has a little trouble looking at you, if he ever comes out of his room again."

"Actually, " Dawn added, "it's good news. All you have to do is figure out who put the spell on you and make them give you the crystal…."

"The crystal?"

"Yeah, there'll be a crystal that binds the spell. Break the crystal and _voilà_, you get your memories back. No surgery, no brain damage…"

And God she _wanted_ to believe it. But …. Magic?

She looked up at the two …_girls_, really, … Buffy curled up in an easy chair, playing idly with a stuffed toy pig, Dawn sprawled on a sofa with a textbook in her lap, both the very picture of innocence … but then nothing in Syd's life had ever turned out to be what she thought it was at first, or even on second, or third impression.

Recent events running around in circles in Syd's mind, what did … anyone possibly hope to gain by convincing her magic existed?

Was there some Rambaldian crystal somewhere they were trying to con her into stealing for them?

"Dawn," Buffy said, "do me a favor, run down to Tony's and get some of that Pistachio gelato Andrew likes…"

"Buffy…."

"Please."

Reluctantly Dawn got up, found her shoes and went to the door, paused, said,

"Don't be mean."

"I won't be mean," Buffy said, and waited, then called out, "Dawn, you know I can hear you," and then waited a little longer and stood and came to sit on a coffee table in front Syd's chair and what or whoever Syd was facing it was certainly not an innocent girl, not something she could put into words, but there was an _Other_ there, a raw power that sent a true chill down her spine…

"I don't want anything from you Sydney." Buffy said. "There's no grand macchiato, no, machelange…."

"Machiavellian," Syd supplied.

"Thanks, _Dawn,_" Buffy pouted, and some but not all of the predator left her eyes. "Look, I don't have to go all threat-face again, 'kay? Just pretend you're still scared… there's no… plot, or if there is, I'm not part of it. I helped you because, well, first, commando types piss me off, and then we learn there's a bunch of guys in suits trying to control a young woman, well I just naturally side with the young woman… Julia... was fun, and you seem nice, and what happened with your friends, and your boyfriend…well that all sucks, and I'm truly sorry, but really… _Not my problem._ And in the end the you're pretty much a commando type yourself, aren't you?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Magic is real, Sydney. But it's not a toy, I'm not going to do tricks to convince you. You'll believe when you need to. There's a whole other world out there that you know nothing about, and I wish it could stay that way. Your world and my world. Unmixy things. But someone in my world has crossed the line this time, so I'm going to give you this," she held out a small card with a phone number written on it.

"This is for when you believe. For when you need help. Identify yourself as Sydney, when they ask for a password, say 'Buffy,' got that?"

"Yes, what…" Syd started but Buffy held up her hand for silence.

"I don't trust you. You haven't been straight with us since you got here, I'm going to tell them not to trust you. But they will help you if you need it. That is not my number, understand. I'm retired. _Don't_ call _me._ Now, when Dawn comes back she'll set you up with a secure internet connection so you can make arrangements. You can stay here for a couple days if you need to, just stay away from the windows in case they're watching. We can front you a little cash if you need it. …" She stood, then, leaned forward and suddenly she was back in full threat mode and Syd, who been in tough places once or twice, decided she'd take evil dentists any day over a pissed off Buffy Summers in her face…

"And then, Sydney Bristow, after you leave, what I want is for you and … your … people … to stay the hell away from me and my sister. Period. Come near us again, try to make us into any kind of "assets" and I will destroy you. I'd give you references from some of my old enemies, but, hey, they're all dead."

And then suddenly she smiled and the age and the ice completely left her eyes, she gave Dr. Ziti's tail a quick tug and stood back, said cheerfully,

"Okay, I've got a lunch date and some errands to run, Dawn will be back soon with too much gelato. You should probably stay inside during the daylight but tonight maybe we can go get those funky wigs of Julia's, get all dressed up, grab Carlo if he's up for it... and we'll sneak out the back and hit a couple clubs, waddya say?"

Which, fortunately, was apparently a rhetorical question as all Syd could do was sit open-mouthed as the mercurial blonde bounded away.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The club was doing decent business for a Tuesday night. Jack Bristow sat at the bar and nursed a double scotch, tried to block out the horrific music and waited as he had so many times before, in bars without number. But never for a meet more important than this one. Perhaps one of the last.

Once the airport shuttle had dropped him at the hotel he was officially registered at but had no intention of using, it had taken him all of fifteen minutes to elude his NSC tail. But still he'd spent another hour double-checking and backtracking to be sure he was clear before entering the back door of a certain cybercafe he knew. He'd slipped the owner the usual fee and connected his laptop to the server and went online. He had sighed with relief when he saw the encrypted "I'm okay," message from Sydney, including a suggested meet and fallback in case he indeed had, as she'd expected, made it to Rome.

But there had also been a _sub-rosa_ message from Marshall warning that Sydney had officially been declared a fugitive therefore making any assistance given to her also a federal offense, and that Lindsey had a long list of terrorism and espionage charges prepared….

And while Jack and Sydney both had survived such inter-agency fights before, it had not been without cost, and sooner or later their luck would run out. So maybe now the time had come for them both to just disappear, now that that officious twit Vaughn had shown Sydney his true worth, maybe Sydney was once again ready to move on.

Jack was ready, had been for a long time, staying in the CIA only in order to use his position to protect Sydney. He had the money, salted away over the years, skimming some from the CIA ops he'd run, skimming even more in his position at SD-6, the Alliance expected its higher echelon to take a cut of all business passing through their hands. The CIA had of course required that he report such skimming and turn the funds over the beancounters and he had. Well, thirty percent or so anyway.

Of course the take-down of SD-6 and the Alliance had been the jackpot, with all the confusion it had been child's play to make a certain percentage of the Alliance funds simply disappear and Jack knew full well he wasn't the only one with his fingers in the pie. No one had made out quite as well as Sloane of course but Jack had done well enough. There was money in his name and in Sydney's scattered throughout the world, more than enough for both of them to live out their lives in luxury.

He saw her then, in the mirror behind the bar… and that was the problem, really, you couldn't miss her…. Oh, she could hide beneath a flowing raven wig, a bit of face paint to alter the shape of her mouth, the line of her eyes, she could fit in anywhere, but she could not hide that walk, that way she strode through life in high gear, no matter how beaten down or unhappy… She was still so young yet, so full of life, how could she simply hide away? It was one thing to quit the Agency and embark on a new, free life, another thing altogether to run and hide. A cage is a cage is a cage no matter how gilded or how wide.

So young and full of life and yet still so professional, he watched her quarter the room, checking her back, noting the exits. She was with two younger girls she had probably picked up outside as cover, changing the profile. One of the girls wore a bright red wig, the other sported blue, both were laughing as they settled on a table.

She came up to bar casually then, both playing out their roles, she allowed him to buy her a drink, and they chatted, watching the mirror until he nodded slightly and said,

"Sweetheart," she turned and said softly,

"Hi, Dad," and he felt the same quick thrill he always did when she said the word, felt the same rush of gratitude that she had forgiven him for the mistakes and follies of his past. He felt her taking hold of his arm, her strong fingers so different and yet so much the same as the little girl who so many years ago had clung trustingly to his hand.

"Come on," she said, "some friends of mine want to threaten you."

**-30-**

**Chapter 4: More deadly than the male.**


	5. Chapter 4: More deadly than the male

"_When the music changes, so does the dance." _African Proverb

**Chapter 4: More deadly than the male.**

**ROME**

"I don't," Jack Bristow repeated firmly, over the bar's loud music, "dance."

"Papa don't dance?" Dawn said to Sydney, who shook her head grinning.

"That's too bad," Buffy said. "He's cute."

"Buffy likes them old," Dawn explained. "And kinda evil. You're kinda evil, aren't you, Jack?"

"What?"

"You know what it's like, to be the bad man," Dawn said.

"He's a sad man," Buffy added.

"With kind brown eyes," Dawn noted.

"Oh, he knows what it's like, to be hated."

"To be fated to tell only lies," Dawn completed.

"But your dreams," Buffy stood suddenly and leaned forward, staring into Jack's puzzled face, "Are they as empty as your conscience seems to be?"

And just for second there was tension as Syd saw Buffy's eyes go hard and felt her father start to gather but Dawn broke the mood by dissolving into giggles and snorting _negroni _out her nose.

"Does he sing?" Dawn asked Sydney, when she could breathe again.

"No," Sydney answered.

"You sure?" Buffy said, sitting back down. "'Cause paternal types sometimes hide that sort of thing. So, Sydney, are you good? Dad bring you a new toothbrush and all that?"

"Yes, Buffy, thank you. And you Dawn, thanks, for everything. And Buffy, what you said. I understand. We won't bother you again."

"You can visit," Dawn interjected, "Just don't bring the gang from the office. You want your hair back?"

"Oh no, you keep them, they … suit you."

"Yeah, all we need is the red rubber nose to complete the look. Take care, Sydney. Nice to meet you, Mr. Bristow. Be good. Buffy, look."

"What?"

"Boys. Pretty boys with clean shirts and dirty minds, just your type."

"_My _type?"

"Well, I don't care about the shirts as much as you do. Let's go, Syd and her dad need to do spy stuff."

And then the girls were bounding away, the blue and red wigs bobbing in the crowd like ducks on choppy water, then disappearing beneath the waves of eager suitors, and they were gone.

"Spy stuff?" Jack said. Sydney leaned back in her chair and looked at her father.

"You're not going to believe a word I say, are you?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Lauren Reed sat and watched her husband sleep and thought about how fast her life had gone from wonderful to wrong. Wrong, hell, from wonderful to totally fucked.

She thought about what she was going to do about it.

Lauren had grown up in a political family, where the art of the possible was the bottom line and never use a sentence where several paragraphs will do was the motto. Talk, talk, talk. All day, all night, on the phone, at parties where no one had any fun and few understood the concept. Lauren watched and learned how power worked, understood, truly understood that all her father's endless blabber was not idle. He was a player. He made things happen.

But God was it boring.

Lauren wanted to be on the frontlines, in on the action. Intelligence was the logical choice, the NSC because that's where Senator Reed had the most influence. She knew how the world worked, no point in starting in the mailroom if you didn't have to. She figured that as long as you did the job well it didn't matter how you got it. Although if Sloane's hints that her father had actually used his influence to keep her safely away from the action were accurate maybe it had been an error.

Though to be fair she didn't want to be the hand that held the gun, she wanted to be the one that told the likes of Sydney Bristow what to do. That was the _real_ action.

No matter, she was here. She had the job she wanted, she was on the verge of achieving real power in the NSC, Robert Lindsey was a crude man and sooner or later he would misstep and she would shift him aside and take his place.

She had the man of her dreams, handsome, with a bit of history in his face. A man with experience in the world, who carried just a touch of tragedy that tore her heart. He'd let her reach in and touch him, let her love begin to heal his wounds and make him whole again. In time he would have grown weary of teaching French to morons and come back to his real work in his own time, perhaps at the Agency, perhaps at her side at the NSC and together they would have ruled their own little corner of the world.

And then Sydney reappeared and ripped it all apart, re-opened in Michael all the old wounds that Lauren had so carefully closed.

She wanted Michael to choose her. She wanted Sydney at one end of the hall and herself at the other and to have Michael choose her. But she knew it would never be that simple. And she feared she would lose.

She wanted Michael to choose her, but in the end, she wanted Michael.

Her boss wanted her to spy on her husband so he could arrest Sydney.

Her husband wanted her to spy on her boss so he could save Sydney.

Lauren wanted … well, ideally she wanted to prove to Michael that the Sydney who killed Lazerey in cold blood was the real Sydney. That in the end she was her mother's daughter, a murderer and a thug not worthy of his love.

But failing that, Lauren wanted Sydney gone. In exile, disappeared, leaving Michael grateful to Lauren for her help in letting Sydney escape. That would be good too.

But, dead, if necessary. Again. Still. Some more. That worked for her too.

But _that_ Michael could never know.

When she'd first dreamed of being on the front lines of high stakes espionage, this wasn't quite what she had mind. But here it was, she was on the edge, walking a tightwire and as far as she was concerned the stakes were the highest.

She lay down beside him, waited for him to stir, to come at least partially awake and she whispered in his ear that they needed to talk, and she led him down the hall and started the shower. She'd swept the house, she was fairly sure Lindsey hadn't gone so far as to bug her yet, but it wouldn't hurt to be sure.

It wouldn't hurt to be naked with Michael in the hot water and the steam, either.

She leaned in against him, spoke just loud enough for him to hear if he leaned down to meet her.

"Echelon," she told him, "flagged a Rome to London call today that mentioned Sydney's name. And Jack's, and yours, pretty much everyone in your office. Someone code-named "Buffy" asked someone named Giles to check you all out."

Which almost certainly meant Sydney was talking to her captors but Lauren saw no need to point that out, Michael would come to the same conclusion by himself.

"I'll try to get you a copy tomorrow," she told him. And kissed him. And just for a moment there was resistance, and then none, and he was hers again, at least for a little while.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF ROME**

In the bright light of the morning of course it all started to seem unreal. If it wasn't for the bruises on her arm where Buffy's hand had tightened Sydney might have been tempted to give in to the worried skepticism in her father's eyes and dismiss it all as some side effect of her memory loss, or perhaps of a drug given to her by her captors and/or rescuers.

But the bruises were there, and her mind was clear. Dawn and Andrew engaging in duel fought with biscotti dipped in pistachio gelato, that had to be real. Especially since she'd been challenged by the winner and declared overall champ by virtue of painting green slashes on each of Dawn's cheeks while Dawn had only managed to dot Sydney's nose. Not even Sloane could manufacture stuff like that.

She hadn't told her father that part, how much of the previous day she'd spent just…. playing. Sitting and listening to Dawn tell Julia stories.

She was driving, retelling the whole story to her father, filling in the details of the shortened version of events she'd given him the night before. They were on their way to Naples and a private plane Jack had waiting. From there to Lisbon and a commercial flight to Mexico City, from there they would make their way to Cuba. Because that's where the code in Julia's file cabinet led them, the decrypted message being simply an address in Havana. Just as the message that had come with the key had led them to the apartment in Rome.

"Do you think it's Mom?" Sydney asked. "It's her code."

"I don't know," her father said. "She taught me the code, I don't know that it's exclusively hers. And she and I… we have an arrangement, she could contact me directly…."

"I had half a cat," Sydney said.

"You had what?"

"I had a cat. Or Julia did. Dawn said it adopted me when I moved in. Then I used to leave it with this guy Carlo when I went on trips. She said I used to go on sudden trips, sometimes just for a few days, sometimes for weeks. I must have been working for Simon. Or someone like him. Maybe even freelancing. Dawn thought I was an international jewel thief."

"And she didn't report anything to the police?"

"She approved. On the theory that wealth redistribution through thievery of luxury items was good for the economy. People who could afford expensive jewelry could afford to replace it. Good for jewelry makers, and so on. Dawn's going through a little… radical phase."

"And her sister…."

"Didn't much care about jewelry, though she did say she thought international shoe thieves should be strangled at birth…."

"What?" Jack said.

"Besides, she thought I was a spy…. Dad, what if I was an assassin? You remember what Walker said to me, 'What, no future in murder?' I had all the tools. What if I was taking little trips and killing people?"

"Sydney, we have no evidence of… Julia attacking anyone but Lazerey, but whatever you did, you are not responsible. Someone… did this you to, made you into… someone else. Into Julia. You can't blame yourself."

"Dawn," Sydney said, "said Julia was a very happy person."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**HAVANA**

Faith was so fucking happy it scared her shitless.

She'd caught herself _skipping._

They had been walking along the waterfront and she'd stopped a moment to check out some jewelry and Xander hadn't noticed and kept walking, and she'd … hurried to catch up and realized she was …_.skipping_. She'd never been so fucking embarrassed in her life, she glared around but no one seemed to have noticed or thought anything of it. And after a moment she found it funny herself and began to laugh, but didn't go so far as to tell Xander why.

She thought maybe it was a spell or something. Dayami laughed and told her it was just island fever. Just something that happened to any gringo coming down from the cold north feeling the tropical breezes.

Faith knew it was more than that. There was the problem with her ass, for one thing, the way it kept doing this little side-to-side thing when she walked. Not that she hadn't always had a little roll, when she wanted. But this was different, gentler. Faith was a strider, she walked down the street, through the graveyard, whatever, she had the power going, the force went forward, she'd never just … _sashayed_ down the street like she did now. She didn't even know for sure if anyone could see it, if it really changed anything in her walk. But she could feel it. And Xander didn't seem to mind.

And there were the clothes, too, that had changed. She'd given the leather up in a hurry, she'd expected that. But in the humidity and heat her jeans were no good either so Dayami had taken her shopping and now she was moving around in either light cotton skirts or loose khaki cargo's and it was just a different feel. Free. Even with the dagger and a set of thin stakes strapped to her thigh.

Or it could be the other thing, Dayami had said, still laughing at her.

What other thing?

You think I don't know a woman in love when I see one?

It was the music, had to be, and the way the music spilled out into the streets in the tropical nights, from people's boomboxes as they sat in doorways and on front steps, hanging out. Spilling out from the less upscale clubs where you had the wide open windows instead of the icy air conditioning of the big tourist hotels. It had been the third night, they'd talked Dayami into coming with, giving them a little tour of the nightlife she and her husband used to have, they'd eaten, drank, and danced… and danced, even Xander was getting with the rhythm…

And later, out hunting she found a little group of vamps hanging out by the marina and she realized as she did her thing she was dusting vamps to a _timba _beat, and that was it, it never left her after that. Xander had been the first to benefit, sitting astride him that night she'd got going to the rhythm, taking lap dancing to a whole new level.

That was another thing. Wood had taught her that if you gave a man time to learn your body the sex got better, had gotten her over the idea that if you'd done a guy once you'd done him, end of story. But with Wood it had always been a competition, to make the other come first, or more often, or harder, an approach that was not without its points but … with Xander … it was just fun. Oh it got hot and heavy and urgent at times, but no matter what she never ended feeling like she'd …lost. Xander never acted like he had anything to prove, he just …. wanted her. And he knew a trick or two. Faith began to feel bad for every time she'd needled Anya about having him first. I may have been his first fuck, she realized, Anya had been his first lover.

Well she was making it up to him now.

They were living the life, sleeping in, making lazy love in the mornings, then heading out to do the tourist thing. They'd gone to a beach once and mutually agreed that neither was the laying out type. They'd take the motorcycle and go exploring or better still go diving, though they had had a little trouble getting anyone to take them out after the word spread about the incident with the shark. Well, the damn thing had startled her, it had been pure reflex… But they'd found Guillaume, he was cool, stoned half the time so they had to be sure and double-check their own tanks, and make sure the anchor was down so he didn't float away, but he didn't get all freaked out over one little dead shark either.

Diving, then back to Dayami's for pork and plantains, rice, beans, yams and a nap.

Then the night came, the music, and the dancing.

Xander was getting better, the dancing the best therapy yet for his leg, but still he would tire. At first she'd insisted on sitting with him, waiting for him to catch a second wind, but he'd persisted, said it was no fun watching her bounce around impatiently in her seat,

"Just save the last dance for me," he'd told her. It had taken one broken arm, two sets of bruised balls, and one or two other educational injuries to spread the word to the local studs that, while you could dance with the doe-eyed gringa, be damn careful where you touch and remarks about leaving crippled boyfriends were suicidal. And then there were no problems, they were getting to be known in a couple of the smaller clubs, Xander beginning to build up a small circle of acquaintance's to share bad jokes in accented English and pidgin Spanish with him, the bartender pouring Faith's neat rum and Xander's lime daiquiri without needing to be asked.

And after dancing there would be vamps, sometimes Xander would come with and watch her back, sometimes when she felt the need to run he let her go and rested, waiting for her to come home and bring the beer and sandwiches and her own horny self to bed, and it was all good.

It was just that sometimes Faith caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and saw the happy tanned and grinning girl in the bright colored halter, in the skirt and sandals and wondered, who the hell is that?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dayami was excited. _El Viejo_, the Old One was playing and she was invited. The Old One was legend, a master guitarist who had been around forever and yet was never around, no one seemed to know his real name, sometimes a year, or even two would go by and he would not appear and the rumors of his death would spread.

And then he would show up at some club and the doors would be shut and those lucky enough to be inside got to hear him play, sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes two hours, on his whim. Then over the next month or two he would make a few planned yet secret appearances, and that's how you knew if you were really in with the cool crowd, if you got an invitation.

Dayami had gotten hers. So, she knew the invitation was actually for Xander and Faith and hers only came as their interpreter, but that didn't matter, she was going to hear the Old One play.

She dressed carefully, still all in black, but the tight fashionable black of a widow still in mourning but not dead herself. In this case she knew Javier would understand and thought sadly of how excited he would have been. An invitation to see the Old One.

Did the invitation come because they were friends of the Red Witch? Dayami wondered. Or was it because of whatever it was Faith did late at night? _Tia_ Laline still refused to explain what she'd meant when she'd said Faith would be her revenge, once or twice she'd thought of asking Faith outright, but didn't quite dare. Not yet.

She waited downstairs for them, looking at her watch often. Punctuality or rather the lack thereof was another native custom the pair had embraced with enthusiasm, but you weren't late to hear the Old One play. He might arrive late, his audience would wait.

She blanched at the shirt Xander was wearing so visibly that Faith laughed out loud, punched his shoulder and said, "Told you," and sent him back to don the guayabera Dayami and Faith had bought him earlier. Faith's clothes were a little more informal than Dayami would have chosen, but, well, when you looked like Faith and walked with that confidence you could get away with anything.

Befriending the couple as Aunt Laline had demanded had not turned out to be near the chore she'd feared, had turned out not to be a chore at all. They'd taken her out of the house a bit, out into the music and the island life in ways she hadn't done since Javier died. She wasn't ready to dance and party herself yet, but it was nice to be out and Xander and Faith made sure she was never pressured.

Xander was of course a big teddy bear and Faith… took a little getting used to. But once you understood her gruff manner was just that, her manner, and the coarseness of her limited bits of Spanish was not rudeness but simply that she'd learned, she let slip one day, in prison… Once you understood that the touch of aggression in every word wasn't meant for you in particular but for the world in general, then she could be funny, and even kind at times. Dayami could laugh with her, even tease her a little, woman to woman, about Xander, about the noisy nights. But there were strict limits, any probing about her past and Faith would shut down fast, and for hours. Which was why she dared not ask Faith where she went at night. Or why she would be her revenge for Javier's death.

Xander came down then and stood for inspection, was declared fit to be seen in public, and the trio went out to the waiting taxi. The club was in an old building, had actually been a nightclub before the revolution, then used as a government office building for years, then finally converted back into a club. It was like an old movie set, with a stage and tables arranged on circular descending levels. If it was possible Dayami felt her excitement growing as the waitress took their invitations and guided them down, farther down and finally sat them in the second row. Instantly there was a daiquiri for Xander, neat rum for Faith supplemented by a box of the Rafael Gonzalez panatelas she favored. The waitress took Dayami's order and her Ron Collins appeared almost instantly, she glanced over at Xander and Faith, wondering if they understood the extent of the VIP treatment they were receiving. Unless her aunt had been holding out on her all these years, this was far more than Aunt Laline could have arranged.

She leaned over and speaking softly, explained to Xander, saw something… cold… come over his face for a moment, she saw him glance discretely around, whispered something very softly to Faith who finished lighting her cigar and looked around less covertly, and shrugged, and the moment was gone. Xander was smiling again, asking her to tell him again about the Old One, the rumors he'd played with Reinhardt in his youth which was just barely possible, if the Old One was very old indeed, there were even some claims that he was in a picture with the Hot Club but that seemed unlikely.

Then finally the room grew still, the lights went down leaving only a single spot on the empty chair in the middle of the stage. The only sound was of the doors being shut, then silence.

And then he was there, tall, thin, walking with easy grace for a man called the Old One, his hair jet black, dyed no doubt, for the age was there in his face. He stopped, made a short bow and sat, spent a moment fine-tuning the guitar.

Dayami heard Faith speak softly, "Of course, he's a damn vamp," but before she could wonder what that meant the Old One began to play and there was only the music.

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 5: Same old song**


	6. Chapter 5: Same old song

_They said, "You have a blue guitar,_  
_You do not play things as they are."_  
_The man replied, "Things as they are_  
_Are changed upon a blue guitar."_ - **Wallace Stevens**

_I am fond of music I think because it is so amoral. Everything else is moral and I am after something that isn't. I have always found moralizing intolerable._ -** Hermann Hesse**

**Chapter 5: Same old song**

**LOS ANGELES**

It was strange, Vaughn thought. Like seeing a fish perched in a tree or a walrus in the checkout line at the grocery store. Marshall, outside the office.

It was freaking hilarious. Marshall at a strip club, politely trying to shade his eyes from the flesh on display.

"Marshall," Vaughn said, slipping into the seat beside him at the bar, "it's a strip club. You're supposed to look."

"Was this… really necessary?" Marshall asked.

"It's a sordid business we're in Marshall," Vaughn replied, then his voice went serious. "Marshall, I appreciate this, and I'm only going to say this once. This is dangerous. You've got a kid on the way…"

"Yeah," Marshall said, "but it's Syd. I couldn't face my kid if I didn't do the right thing … you know. Besides, hey, it's me. No one's going to know what I'm doing if I don't want them too."

"Okay. What have you got?"

"Some really freaky stuff," Marshall said, slipping Vaughn a flash drive that he quickly pocketed, his eyes getting that enthused look Vaughn knew well. He braced himself for some technobabble but instead found himself able to follow if not necessarily believe what Marshall said,

"I was checking out Buffy and Dawn Summers and let me tell you I had to really dig, really deep black budget stuff, but I finally got a hit with a project called _The Initiative_ that was based in Sunnydale…"

"That's the town that…"

"Is a crater now, yeah. But this was three-four years before that. But the thing is the names were the only thing I could find and even then the only data was a bunch of warnings not to open the files."

"So you opened the files…"

"Of course, but still, there was nothing, the files were just gone. And I don't mean encoded or wiped or anything like that. Somebody must have physically taken the drives off the system, maybe even destroyed them. So all I had was a list of names. So I start looking up all these names and what I noticed is these people, they're almost all dead, pretty much on the same day, they got a little sloppy there. Anyway, I start backtracking these names and a couple really just pop, still really deep cover R and D but at least the data's still there….

"So you found…"

"The first was Margaret Walsh, real genius, working on behavior modification technology and artificial intelligence, she started out with rats. She taught them how to drive…"

"What?"

"She put these little chips in their brains and she was able to program these rats to drive, she had little modified electric cars, like a toy car you might get your kid, like maybe if he isn't even born yet but you wanted…

"Marshall…."

"Yeah, right, anyway, that's just where she started. And this other guy, a Dr. Francis Angleman, expert in biomechanics and neuroprosthetics, put them together with some of the other specialists there…. You're talking about integrating biological and mechanical systems, with behavior controls. Now add that to the one thing I was able to pull up on this Initiative Project was that it had to do with "HSTs" which I assume stand for Human Subject Tests… "

"Okay, you're losing me here, Marshall…"

"This Buffy Summers was a student at UC Sunnydale, a mediocre student, but she was in Walsh's cover class. Now what kind of C average undergrad has a totally Ultra Omega super classified file….."

"One who…"

"Right, one who participated in a secret project, as a test subject. And she was one of the few who survived. And according to Jack she was able to single-handedly rescue Syd from a squad of police, and leave bruises on her arm just by squeezing, and has an odd speaking pattern. It's obvious."

"Spell it out for me, Marshall."

"Buffy Summers is a cyborg."

"That's ridiculous. Even if it was even possible, they wouldn't just let … a _cyborg _go free and take an apartment in Rome… They'd try to control her… it, whatever. And if they couldn't, then they'd take it out."

"Maybe they tried. Maybe that's why Sunnydale is a crater."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LISBON**

Killing time before their red-eye flight to Mexico City Jack took Sydney to a favorite restaurant in the _Baixa_ district. It was an indulgence, a risk, but at some point you had to say, okay, if they can find me here, they're going to win anyway, let's live a little. They ate steaks smothered in green pepper sauce and supplemented by perfectly fried potatoes, washed down with a local red wine. Followed by chocolate cake smothered in mousse, with coffee and finally, because it would be a sin to pass through Lisbon without a glass of port, a glass of port. Jack watched his daughter eat heartily, pleased at her healthy appetite, and laughed at himself a little for the belated maternal feelings.

She took his arm as they left the restaurant, smiled sleepily and laid her head on his shoulder and let him guide her through the ancient streets.

"Could you live like this?" he asked her. "If we had to, if we had to go underground?"

"Mmmoph," she answered.

"I just want you to know, we can do that, it you want. We have the money. I want you to know, I'll do it if you want."

"Mmmmphgh," she answered.

They stopped in at a cybercafe, paid in cash and Jack downloaded, from an aquarium hobbyist forum, a picture, of an elderly goldfish, that Marshall had encoded with his latest message.

Just for fun they stopped in _Rossio_ to each down a sickly sweet _ginjinha_, Syd laughing as Jack gamely swallowed the last cherry and shook his head. They stopped to listen for awhile to listen to a busker playing, of all things, a set of bagpipes. Then when she began to pack up for the night they dropped some money in the bowl and walked down toward the waterfront on the backstreets.

It all happened in a blur, two men with knives stepped out of a side alley demanding money. Jack automatically took the one on the left, brushing the knife aside and slamming the heel of his hand into the man's chin, putting him down and out, then turning toward Sydney and reaching out to grab her arm just in time to stop her from thrusting the knife she'd easily taken from her opponent into his heart.

She looked over at Jack, puzzled, then looked down and realized what she had been about to do and her face began to break,

"Later," Jack ordered tersely and she nodded and after struggling just a moment her face went hard again. Jack was already questioning the man, whose right arm hung limp and useless at his side.

Jack searched, found worn wallets and ID's on both, one contained pictures of large, apparently happy family. Jack twisted the broken arm once again, the man screamed in a high pitch whistle and swore again he had only wanted money, please don't kill me. And Jack decided they were just what they appeared, incompetent and luckless thieves, and slammed his elbow into the man's chin dropping him beside his partner. He and Sydney drug the two unconscious men into the shadows and walked on.

"I was going to kill him," Sydney said after awhile. Jack reached out to put his arm around her, thought better of it.

"Reflexes, it's better to react with too much violence than too little."

They walked on, nearing the taxi stand.

Sydney said, "I can't, Dad, I'm sorry. I can't just run and hide. I need to know."

On the plane Jack fired up his laptop, loaded and decrypted the goldfish picture and read Marshall's report, shaking his head. _Cyborgs?_ Well, at least it made more sense than magic. He was pleasantly surprised that Vaughn had come through with the Echelon information from Lauren, but worried about the computer security breach. Obviously the NSC would never believe that anyone could hack the CIA computers so quickly and untraceably, Jack wouldn't believe it himself if he hadn't learned over the years to have absolute faith in Marshall when it came to technology.

So obviously the NSC would blame Sydney for talking, giving out the names of other agents. Anyone with true experience understood that in the end there was no defeating modern interrogation methods, still, there was a stigma.

Lindsey might even try to use the _en claire _use of their names as an excuse to shut down the LA branch or at least transfer everyone to desk duty and bring in NSC preferred operatives.

And who the hell was this Giles person? Marshall had narrowed it down to Rupert Giles, once of the British Museum… then high school librarian in Sunnydale. Where there just happened to be a black budget R and D program. Now he's at some shady old boy's club outfit in London called the Watcher's Council… _MI6_ written all over him. So, was Buffy Summers his agent from the beginning or did he turn her when she became disenchanted with the Initiative program? Either way there would be some damn unhappy people in both Washington and Downing Street if that hit the fan.

Was Buffy still working for HMG, or free-lancing, or actually retired like she said and just reporting sighting opposition like any good retired agent would?

Jack closed the laptop and sat back, running the many permutations in his head, which didn't hurt. This was how he lived, had lived for the last thirty years, it was as natural as breathing.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Michael Vaughn sat in the restaurant and watched his wife peruse the menu. He did love her, he thought, she was so earnest, so ambitious, so serious about doing something valuable, so much like he had been once. He wanted to reach out and hold her, gather her in and save her from the many disappointments he knew were coming.

She didn't scare him the way Sydney did. Didn't excite him the way Sydney did. Didn't free him from himself the way Sydney sometimes could.

Didn't matter. Done deal. He was married to Lauren, not to Sydney, he'd let Sydney go once, he could do it again. Besides, moments of weakness aside he wasn't all that sure Sydney wanted him back now. True, Syd was… quick to anger. And quick to forgive, just ask her father. Still, though her white-hot anger with him might have burned away, but the disappointment was still there. It would never be the same.

The flash card burned a hole in his pocket. He'd downloaded Marshall's report and rewritten it to hide as much as possible any of Marshall's signature touches, though, really who else would have the ability… Still, the NSC didn't know that. And the information might actually help Syd, turn their attention toward this Buffy person or thing or whatever she was. It was.

He reached out and took Lauren's hand, kissed the back and folded it over the flashcard,

"I need you to be very careful how you source this, you need to make sure Lindsey doesn't trace it back, not just to me, but to my sources. There are… good people, innocent people involved."

And her whole face lit up, a kid at Christmas morning, she leaned over and kissed him, said softly,

"Thank you, Michael. For trusting me."

"Of course," he said, "if we can't trust each other, who can we trust?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE OVER THE NORTH ATLANTIC**

After the stewardess woke them for a nice breakfast of yellow agglutinated sludge, orange colored acid and brown water, Jack resolved never ever to fly coach again and passed the laptop over to Sydney for her turn at Marshall's report.

She shook her head, "Cyborg? I guess that would explain the strength but I don't know, there wasn't anything really… mechanical about her." She read on.

"Oh damn," she said, "it must have been Dawn… Well, I guess that makes sense, that's how they knew my real name… That's what Buffy meant about me not being straight with them, they knew the whole time, the things I left out. Damn. Now they'll never trust me."

"Wait a minute," Jack said, "you're telling me that ... that giggling child in the red wig is the person who hacked the CIA?"

"Well, her or someone she knows, and she seemed pretty good. And it was my wig, after all. Oh, God…!"

"What?"

"She'll think it was me. Buffy. When the NSC sees this they'll go after Buffy and she'll think it was me that sent them."

"Well, this is Marshall's report to me, not to the NSC. Right now, as far as I know they only have the phone call and they weren't able to trace that past the cell towers for some reason. So maybe they won't get any further."

"God, I hope not. Oh, well, at least we're going to Cuba. Probably the last place she'd look for me, we ought to be safe there."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ROME**

"Buffy!" Dawn ran into her sister's room to find her already up and dressing.

"Yeah, Dawn, I heard the alarm, what's on the monitors?"

"Commandos."

"Police again?"

"Doesn't seem to be."

"That bitch. Go and be nice to people, see what it gets you."

"We don't know it was Sydney, maybe it's the people who were after her."

"Doesn't matter. I should have stayed out of it. What do I say all the time, the government should stay out of my world. And maybe I should stay out of theirs."

"But…."

"Well, it doesn't matter now, you and Andrew get in the closet, I'll come get you when it's over."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**LOS ANGELES **

"Sir, we've lost contact with the assault team."

They were gathered in the conference room waiting for the report on the apprehension of Buffy Summers, Lindsey and a couple of his gofers, Lauren, Vaughn, Dixon and Weiss.

"What? Repeat that," Lindsey demanded of the speaker mounted in the center the table, broadcasting the voice of the field commander.

"Sir, we've lost contact with the assault team."

"Well, go make contact."

"Yessir."

Twenty-five minutes later Carrie Bowman, the NSC computer tech came in, said,

"Sir, Echelon intercepted another Buffy-Giles call."

"Well?!" Lindsey demanded.

She sat at one of the computer stations, typed for a moment, then the speaker gave out with,

"Giles, it's me."

"Buffy… what's wrong?"

"Had another visit from the MIB."

"Oh. Are they hurt?……Buffy?"

"Well, maybe a little."

"You didn't do the thing with the batons again, did you? Because, really, that was a little tasteless."

"No. Nothing with batons. Just handcuffs. Since they brought their own."

"And….?"

"And maybe some nudity. And ammo clips, which was kind of me, really, 'cause I'm pretty sure those don't go off accidentally and I was thinking of using the guns…"

"That's very considerate of you, I'm sure…. Buffy, I am sorry. Anything I can do?"

"Yes, actually, remember those names I gave you to check out?"

"Yes, of course, we are working on them……"

"Yeah, well, put them all on the spank and detain list, will you? And add a couple more…just a sec, hey, you, what were those names again….. Oh, yeah. Lauren Reed and Robert Lindsey."

"Very well, I'll pass it along. What are you going to do now?"

"I think I'll go back to bed."

"What a good idea. Good night."

"Night, Giles."

And there was silence.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**HAVANA**

For a moment there was silence. Then _El Viejo_ stood and bowed and the room erupted in applause, Dayami was on her feet with all the others, clapping frantically, she glanced over and saw that Faith and Xander were applauding enthusiastically as well.

It had been everything she'd heard it would be, his fingers had danced over bright melodies, stroked out rhythms that made her heart dance, slowed and broke that same heart with melancholy notes like a human voice weeping, then brought the brightness back again… she was exhausted just from sitting and listening for, she checked her watch, ninety minutes that had just flown by.

And then as _El Viejo_ turned to leave the stage Xander took her arm and whispered in her ear,

"I'm sorry, Dayami, but I think you'll be safer staying with us."

Safer? She wondered, then they were moving, Xander holding her back a moment to let Faith lead the way, angling down toward the stage then left toward the door at the side where two large men stood guard. Alone, because it just wasn't done to pester the Old One for autographs or the like. Dayami could feel every eye in the house on her back as Faith led them over to the blocked door. One of the men reached a hand out to stop her and Faith took it, bent it back and suddenly the man was one his knees and Xander was ushering Dayami forward to translate, Faith said,

"Tell bubba here if I don't get a polite invitation backstage in the next thirty seconds the Old One's next number is gonna be 'Dust in the Wind,' the long version."

And Dayami choked out the words and the man's eyes grew wide and when Faith released him he scrambled back to the door and hurried inside. And returned almost instantly and waved them forward.

"Whatever happens," Xander whispered in her ear, "don't run off. Stay with us, no matter how freaky it gets. Please."

The dressing room was clean but hardly luxurious, there was a make-up table where El Viejo sat sipping a Bloody Mary complete with celery stick, attended by a couple of elegant young ladies. Dayami still wasn't sure whether to be thrilled to be in his presence or horrified at rudely barging in… at Faith talking to the Old One in such an offhand manner. Dayami was profoundly grateful that he seemed to understand English and didn't need her to translate…

"So, what's the deal," Faith said, "you got a death wish or just somebody that wants you dead? Or was this some kind of final challenge thing, see if you play so well I wouldn't stake you? Cause you're good, I'll give you that. Kinda screws up that old you gotta have soul thing guys in bands are always talking about, though. Think ol' Oz would freak, Xan?"

"I think he'd pretty much say 'huh,' " Xander answered, "but I bet he'd trade his van for a CD, you make any recordings?"

"Certainly. Limited editions, of course. But to be honest, it's not the same."

Dayami's head was swimming, what the hell was Faith talking about? And why did _El Viejo_ just sit there when she walked over and picked up his guitar and strummed it idly.

"Please," the Old One said then, "not the guitar. Don't use the guitar."

"What?" Faith exclaimed, "What kind of asshole do you think I am?"

"My apologies. And to answer you're first question, you did not get your invitation from me. I only knew I was playing at the request of a very beautiful and powerful lady. A birthday gift, I understood. I was… well paid."

"You play for money, then?"

"I perform for money. I play… because I play."

And then a rather well fed man in a three-piece suit burst in, demanding to know who dared bother his client. And then he sat down quickly as Xander's cane suddenly grew a point and was pressed against his double chin.

"Johnny Guitar here is pleading for his life," Faith answered the fat man, "and not doing that great a good job of it either."

"What do you want me to do, kneel and beg?"

"Tell me about your hunting habits."

"I have no need to hunt. They come to me," he said, indicating the two girls. "And then, when we tire of one another, they go home. I haven't killed in years."

"Somehow I don't believe him, do you Xan?"

"Not so much. No."

"Please," the Old One said, reaching out for his guitar and Faith let him have it.

He tuned quickly, began to play, singing in a gravelly voice, a little weak but not unpleasant,

_"I close my eyes  
Only for a moment, then the moment's gone…"_

and Faith laughed out loud and nodded and sat back to listen.

Dayami only understood that she didn't understand, they sat and listened as the Old One played, quietly, softly even, as if only for himself…. And then he seemed slowly to just come to stop, his eyes closed, waiting for something. She saw Faith and Xander looking at each other for moment.

"Kitten?" Faith said.

"Kitten," Xander answered and turned to Old One, asked, "You remember your name?"

"Elias Herrera y Vega," the musician said softly. Faith reached out and took the guitar out of his hands, handed it to the fat man.

"You," she said, waited a moment to be sure she had his full attention, "go out there on stage and announce the old dude here's retiring, and in his honor you're sponsoring the Elias Herrera y Vega guitar playing contest, winner gets the guitar and ten.. nah, twenty thousand dollars. You got that much, yeah?" The fat man nodded carefully. "But he … or she, has gotta give free concerts and lessons and stuff, you figure the details, right?"

"Thank you," the Old One said.

"Now everybody out," Faith said, pushing the fat man, the two girls and finally the bodyguards out the door and closing it.

And then Faith took Xander's offered cane and jammed the end suddenly into El Viejo's chest and there was a whooshing sound and he was gone, leaving nothing but a silent cloud of dust and Dayami staring in open-mouthed shock.

Xander took one arm and Faith the other and they helped her up, walked her back out into the club proper where the crowd had grown even larger as no one had been in a hurry to leave and those excluded had rushed in to savor the atmosphere. The fat man was just leaving the stage, the hush giving way to a noisy buzz as his words sank in and were repeated.

A waitress came up to Dayami, thrust a small black bag into her hand, said, "Your forgot your purse, Miss," and faded away as Dayami numbly nodded her thanks and it wasn't until she was sitting in the back of a taxi with Xander and Faith that it occurred to her that she hadn't brought a purse to the club.

**-30-**

Next: **Chapter 6: Fat Face and a Furry Tail**


	7. Chapter 6: Fat Face and a Furry Tail

**Chapter 6: Fat Face and a Furry Tail**

**A/N:** See Prologue for disclaimer/warnings.  
Thanks, as always, for the kind reviews.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_"Anybody who says 'violence never solved anything' hasn't properly applied it."_ - **Tim Mitchell **

**Sydney:**_ Look, to you, my job might seem pointless and stupid but it's not. It's far from pointless and if you knew what I dealt with every day, you might even thank me for doing my job so well!_  
**Will:** (confused) _What the hell are you talking about?_

**Chapter 6: Fat Face and a Furry Tail **

MEXICO CITY

Sydney stood naked in the shower at the airport hotel and sprayed herself with a bronzer until she had a thorough all-over tan. She went through Julia Thorne's wig collection and chose a coarse dark brown, and colored her eyebrows to match, applied a bright red lipstick. She put on the short dress and the heels she'd purchased the night before and spent a few minutes practicing her bimbo walk, thinking long time professional spy or not it still felt a little weird posing as her father's mistress.

Jack came back to the room with the morning paper, coffee and the latest message from Marshall, a brief description of the disastrous attack on Buffy Summers' Rome apartment.

"Now do you believe me?" Sydney said.

"That Buffy Summers' is some sort of superwoman? I don't know. I'm more concerned about why the attack. If they didn't have Marshall's additional information then it seems premature."

"Marshall would never…"

"I'm aware of Marshall's many virtues, Sydney, but he has a baby on the way. That changes a man's priorities. Or, more likely, the NSC simply found a way to monitor his activity. In any case we need to be careful not to divulge anything in our communications that might reveal our location."

He disappeared with his own travelling kit into the bathroom and emerged a half hour later with a brush moustache and a distractingly obvious toupee, and to finish the effect, plaid Bermuda shorts that had Sydney in near hysterics, then the German accent put her over the edge.

Her father waited until she was finished giggling, said, "Vat?" and set her off again.

Ten minutes later Syd had regained control and they went down to join the _Five Days of Sun and Sin in Old Havana_ tour group that was assembling in the lobby.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**HAVANA**

Xander woke a little earlier than usual, leaned over and kissed Faith lightly on the forehead and began to dress. It still seemed just a little unreal, waking up with Faith beside him. It had all happened so fast. In Cleveland it had been natural, they were both, in their way, adults among children, and lonely.

And now, alone together… they still knew each other in a lot of ways, aside from the obvious. Important ways, borne from shared experience with the violence of their lives, the misery of their childhoods. But there was a lot they didn't know as well, though bit by bit in post-coital conversation they were each slowly, very slowly, pulling back the veils. At times too they were perfectly in sync, communicating with a glance, like last night with decision to dust the vamp, at the beach, underwater as they dove, out on patrols, any time no words were necessary they did fine.

Still he knew sometimes he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and had the sense that she was doing the same, both too afraid of jinxes to say anything but both still wondering what would inevitably go wrong. Which of course just put them in sync in another way.

Plus there were surprises, the Faith he saw sometimes laughing with Dayami, the Faith dressed often now in light skirt and sandals walking down the street with a sway instead of a stomp, the Faith who sometimes grinned on the verge of giggling and once, to his utter astonishment had actually come _skipping_ up to join him on one their walks was a Faith he'd never really expected to see. Not that he didn't like to see her happy, it was just strange.

He felt a bit strange himself, but at least he knew why. It was the not having a hundred things to do before breakfast. Much as the first few days had been a welcome respite he was already missing the girls, missing, to be honest, their need. He'd promised Giles he wouldn't call for at least two weeks, to let go and let the new Watcher, Georgianne, take over without having his shadow over her. But he missed them.

That was the problem really. Faith didn't need him.

Perhaps in a way, she did, in the long run, as long as she insisted on being the Lone Slayer. In the state she was in when she had arrived in Cleveland, if she'd continued she would have killed herself, one way or another, death by attacking fifty vamps alone, or fifty of some other demon, going out patrolling while drunk. Something of that nature. And he knew that should be enough, it had been enough for Giles, enough for the old style Watchers, doing their best to keep one slayer alive. More than most could handle, to tell the truth.

But day to day, on a patrol, she didn't need him, not the way the newbies did. It was stupid, that slight tingle of dissatisfaction, stupid. He knew that. He couldn't help it.

He went downstairs to see how Dayami was handling her new world, to make himself useful.

She was giving her kids a little bit of an extra long hug before sending them off to school, her eyes looked a little haunted, but otherwise she seemed to be holding up well, smiling and shrugging as he asked how she was. She poured him coffee, busied herself dishing up fried plantains with cheese, eggs and a small pork chop, laughing as she set aside the three more chops she would cook when Faith came down.

"Well, at least I understand now how Faith can eat so much without getting fat," she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee and Xander laughed. "One thing I wanted to ask," she added. They had been through the whole vampire and slayer lore the night before and she had seemed to take it in. But Xander knew the real processing took time.

"Anything," he said.

"Why 'kitten'? You and Faith, when you were deciding whether to … dust the … Elias. You said 'kitten.' Why?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, it's one of my little lessons-for-new-slayers things. An example, you're in a burning house with the Mona Lisa and a kitten, and you only have time to save one or the other, which do you save? Cause sooner or later a slayer has to make that kind of choice. Elias was unusual, but not unheard of, some vampires are quite charming, have all kinds of historical knowledge or some sort of skill they've developed over centuries. Most of the vamps that survive that long do so because they're discreet. Clever. Very damn persuasive. It can be hard to just kill them. You have to remember that letting them go means sooner or later they're probably going to kill someone. There are some who would argue that those girls that went to Elias were volunteers, that dumb groupie girls are a dime a dozen and, you know, small price to pay for musical genius, but you really don't want a slayer to start thinking that way. So, kittens."

"Because life is more important than art?" Dayami said.

"Well, no, not really, that doesn't really work, cause what if the choice is the Mona Lisa or a rat? Especially when you've got traps down to keep the rats off the paintings. But most slayers are teenage girls, and teenage girls in my experience, pretty much suckers for cute baby animals, so I really try to get the whole, _kill a vamp, save a kitten _message in there. Plus that way, anytime they start getting soft on demons I can tell them about the poker games and that takes care of that."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

Dayami smiled. "So Faith was… one of your trainees?"

"What? No. Faith … is a slayer from when there were just two, from before I was doing any training of anybody. She's just heard me give the speech, so she was, I dunno, teasing me a little. It's not a major thing really, most slayers pretty much have see vamp, kill vamp hardwired in."

"But there are times when you don't kill them?"

"Sometimes. Mostly with vamps we kill them. But there are a few exceptions. Other demons, it's a little vaguer, some demons, not evil at all, really. It gets confusing."

"Xander." Dayami said, her voice suddenly serious. "How much longer will you be here?"

"I don't know. We haven't really decided…. You don't need to worry though, we'll spread the word, anything happens to you we come back with a couple squads and really tear things up… But see, that's one of the deals, there. We gotta leave somebody alive to spread the word."

"That's not… well, thank you, I appreciate that…"

Then Faith came bounding down the stairs, poked her head into the kitchen said,

"Rugrats gone?"

"Yes," Dayami answered, shaking her head and Faith, wearing only panties and one of Xander's shirts came into the kitchen and stole his coffee and handed him his cell phone in return, said, "Message from jolly old Giles."

"Oh," Xander said, picking up the phone, "nothing urgent I hope."

"Nah, just B adding more names to her shit list. Some SWAT types tried to take her last night."

"Batons?"

"Ammo clips. Girl keeps that up and I am gonna be the nice one. We gotta do something_ mean_ today, Xan. Seriously."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once they were through customs and on to the hotel Jack gave the tour guide a nudge, nudge, wink, wink, and told him not to worry if they didn't show up for a couple days, and they went up to their room, where Jack lost the toupee and the moustache and the short pants in about thirty seconds.

Sydney swapped the heels and bimbowear for shirt, slacks and deck shoes, wiped off the bright red lipstick and re-styled the wig. They reassembled the two pistols from the parts that had been spread discreetly throughout their checked suitcases. Sydney was really starting to miss Marshall and his usual op-tech briefings, CIA transport and weapons supply. She even wished she had been able to bring along more of Julia's secret closet, even though she had managed to bring along the .22 cell phone and the .38 cigarette pack.

They left the hotel through the side entrance and made their way to a Cubacar and rented a Suzuki Sidekick and set off to find the decoded address.

Which turned out to be a large nightclub, leftover from the bad old days when the American mob ruled the land, converted to government offices with the revolution and now back to a club as the almighty dollar, or more and more, the almighty euro slowly reclaimed it's own.

There were armed guards, discretely placed so as not to announce themselves to the casual passerby but obvious to trained eyes, much heavier security than Syd would have thought necessary for a simple nightclub.

They parked the car and carefully following elliptical paths gradually worked their way around the club, looking for entrance points, but finding nothing especially promising.

They returned to marina area where they rented a room in a small hotel that catered to the yachting crowd and stashed a suitcase containing the laptop. Then they asked around at a couple expat hangouts until they were guided to a backstreet garage where a black 650 JAWA motorcycle with Ural sidecar and appropriate paperwork was available for only a slightly unreasonable price. Jack haggled briefly for show, then paid the money and took the bike to where Syd was waiting. They took turns trading surveillance duty and doing a little shopping. Jack made reservations, finding it easier than expected at such short notice, oh, señor, the reservations clerk told him, you're a day late, last night was legendary, the Old One played his heart out and retired. We have a good show tonight, of course, but last night, as you can see, I am telling everybody. I will tell my grandchildren I was there. Dinner for two then?

Sydney stashed the motorcycle in the alley behind the club, prayed it wouldn't be stolen, or needed, for that matter, then they returned to the hotel to change.

Syd went with the short blonde wig and a red dress slit practically to the waist, which would, at least, make it easier to run in. She went with the matching red underwear, just in case. Jack borrowed her bronzer and darkened his face and neck a little, dyed his hair black and added matching moustache and goatee and a white linen suit and they made their entrance arm in arm and fashionably late. They were led to a table near the back and they sat and ate and watched the dancing girls and looked high and low for the reason they were here without much luck, until near midnight when a slight murmur went through the crowd and a small group emerged from the club's depth. Large gentlemen of the bodyguard persuasion led the way to a VIP table, front and a little off center to allow for the low privacy walls that separated it from the plebeians. Just for a moment the high and mighty principals, a thin blond man, fashionably dressed, a striking black woman with a wide smile, wearing dark red, and an older brunette walking with a feline grace in a simple black dress were visible from Sydney's seat and her jaw dropped, she looked over to see the same shock she felt reflected in her father's eyes….

"Did you see…" she started.

"Julian Sark, Allison Doren, looking good for a person who took a bullet in her chest not long ago."

"And Mom," Sydney said. "Don't forget Mom. Perhaps I should go down and say hello?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dayami could still hear Faith and Xander's motorcycle disappearing in the distance when her aunt appeared in the doorway, her face alight with excitement, for the next best thing to telling juicy gossip was hearing it.

"Tell me!" she demanded. "Is it true? Did _El Viejo_ really retire, were you really there?"

Dayami hit her. Not a solid punch, just a backhand slap, but she put her heart into it.

"Tell me about Javier!"

_Tia _Laline stood, stood tall, her shoulders raised in anger… then she faltered before her niece's glare.

"He is dead, _Dayita_, let it go. I am sorry, I should never have spoken, it was foolish of me and I am truly sorry."

"Does he still walk and talk? Does he still play guitar? Not his, I know because I have it here, does he play another? Do the girls come and offer him their necks? Why does he never come to me?"

"Because he would kill you…. It is their first instinct when they rise, to go their families, usually to kill them… Javier was prevented as…. A courtesy to me."

"To you?!"

"There is …. An arrangement, among those of us who practise the dark arts."

"So what, the rest of us are culled like sheep? Do you point out a really fat juicy one if they'll spare your little coven of satan's bitches?"

"It is not so crude. We can... annoy them just enough that it's easier for them to just avoid us, but we can't fight them. We are not slayers and slayers are not called here. This is just a backwater island, we have poverty, we have some TB, we need better neo-natal care, we have STD's, we have vampires. Many places are worse, many places in the Caribbean, be very glad you don't live in Haiti. We have some zombies, we have some demons, but no world enders. No hellmouth. When a slayer comes _here_, she is on _vacation, _" _Tia _Laline said bitterly.

"Faith goes out every night…"

"And takes the young and stupid. Yes, she caught a couple of the old ones' off guard, in the beginning, but once the word spread… the wise ones hid away. They know they only have to wait a week or two, then she'll be gone, and everything returns to normal. You need not worry. You and your children are protected."

They sat silent for a moment, Laline got up and poured herself a cup of coffee.

"So you extend your protection to me but not my husband?" Dayami said.

"I tried, _mi amor_, truly." The older woman leaned forward and fingered the medallion on its thin chain around Dayami's neck. "How many talismans did I give him? He would not wear them. And even then… if he had only minded his own business.…"

"I want to see him."

"Oh no, honey, no. Javier is dead, what's left is only a shell, a monster…"

"The Old One, Elias Herrera y Vega, he didn't seem like such a monster…"

"So it's true then…."

"Oh yeah, Faith _retired_ him. I want to see Javier. I want you to _arrange_ it. If he's this horrible monster than we can have Faith ... retire him. And if he's not, maybe he can enter the contest for the Old One's guitar. 'Cause as far as I'm concerned a kitten is just a rat with a fat face and a furry tail and I'd save the Mona Lisa."

"What?" Laline said, but got no answer.

Later, upstairs Dayami stared into the closet where his clothes still hung, tried to imagine him wearing them again, tried to imagine what it would be like to hold him again, to press him against her…. his teeth on her neck, his body cold….. but moving. To hear his voice again.

Xander had said there were exceptions.

She bent to pick up her dress, left on the floor, forgotten in last night's confusions and hysterics, and the little purse rolled aside, the little purse, she remembered now, that the waitress had given her by mistake. She bent and picked it up, opened it, maybe there was some ID, something to tell her who it did belong to so she could return it, but it was empty but for a small sealed envelope, addressed to THE SLAYER.

She hurried downstairs to the phone and called Xander's cell, and shook her head, hearing it ring upstairs. She hesitated for half a second or so, than put on the kettle and waited for it to steam.

She paced, she did the daily household chores, she read the note again…

Slayer,

Please help I am being held captive by a vampire.  
I offer whatever reward you will accept, I have money, and information that I believe would be of interest. Does the word Initiative tempt you?  
Do not be fooled by the lack of chains and the elegant surroundings, it is a polite captivity, but still a cage.

Sincerely,

Irina Derevko

And on the back a simple map of the club and a concise description of the guards, both vampire and human.

Eight of the guards were vampires. What if one was Javier?

Five of the guards were men with guns.

So what if Faith was something special, just her and Xander and against thirteen heavily armed men and monsters, even if Faith scared her a little now she didn't want to see her dead. Just gone. Away.

And if Faith died, all those other Slayers that Xander promised would "tear the place apart" if Dayami was harmed, what would they do if one of their own was murdered? What of Javier then?

And what of Dayami herself and her children, what war would they suddenly be in the middle of?

She thought seriously of a calling _Tia_ Laline and asking her to come right over. So she could slap her again.

She resealed the envelope. She could just put it back in the purse, throw the purse in the closet, and the Russian bitch could take her money and her information and stick it, a woman like that probably deserved everything she was getting.

She paced. Of course they would chose this day to go diving at Cienfuegos, even at the insane speeds Faith rode the motorcycle they would not be back until late, if at all today. She put the note on the table. Leaning against the salt. Visible, but missable. Let the fates decide.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Good evening," Sydney said, "May I join you?"

"Miss Bristow, of course, what a pleasant surprise," Sark said, but Sydney's eyes were only for her mother.

"You're not going to shoot me, are you Syd? That's getting old," Allison added.

"I got your invitation," Sydney said, sitting in the offered chair and dropping the paper with the coded address in front of her mother and saw her ever so slightly shake her head. And Sydney suddenly realized she'd made a terrible mistake.

The whole frontal approach plan had been based on her still firmly held faith that, whatever her mother was up to, she wouldn't kill her. Now she realized that they weren't playing her mother's game but Sark's and she doubted he had the same compunction.

"Sydney," Irina said quickly, "they won't kill you. They don't dare, no matter what, remember that."

"We could hurt her, though," Allison said to Irina, "And make you watch." Allison turned back to Sydney. "Your mom is a tough old broad. But I wonder how long she can listen to you scream."

"Sydney, go home," Irina said. "Just leave, force them to kill you or let you go and they'll let you leave."

"I need to know about Julia," Sydney said, staring at her mother.

"There now, you see, there's no need for all this talk of killing, we all have a common goal here," Sark said. "Now Julia was a bit of fun, from what I hear, girl after my own heart to be sure. And Sydney, truly I have no desire to kill you…."

"Speak for yourself," Allison said.

"You know who I speak for," Sark said, and turned back to Sydney, "you want your memory back, we want you to get your memory back. Your mother is the one who can get it back." He turned to Irina, "I've always thought of you as a …practical woman. Give us what we want … and the worst thing is you come second in the race. And who knows, there might be enough to share. In this business you know, sometimes old enemies are the closest thing one has to friends. I say let's break bread together and help one another out."

"And I say let's torture the bitches until they give us what we want," Allison insisted.

"What is it that you want?" Sydney said and Allison started to laugh, with just a touch of madness in it.

Sydney took advantage of the moment to lean across the table and take her mother's hand. And press the JAWA's keys into her palm, and hiss,

"Back alley."

The goon behind her pulled her back and held her down, his hands cold and rigid on her shoulders. She tried to lean forward and found she couldn't even budge the man. So she leaned back, put her best weapon on the table.

"Since I guess I'm going to stay awhile," she said glancing wryly at the man behind her, "you won't mind if I get comfortable?" knowing that what she planned shouldn't work with pro's like these and knowing it would anyway. She laid her leg on the table, the slit dress falling away from the smoothly muscled and perfectly tapered limb, she leaned slowly forward, gliding her hands down to undo the strap of her shoe with its stiletto heel.

"Because," she added, "these shoes are killing me," and she swapped legs in a swirl of red fabric and slid her hands slowly down again to undo the other shoe so she had one in either hand and she pulled her legs back, bare now as the skirt fell down her thighs to gather around her waist and she giggled. And kicked over the table.

And whirled, twisting free of the man behind her and jamming a stiletto heel into the eye of the goon on her left with a backhand sweep of her left arm. She carried on with her right, slamming the second shoe's sharp point into the ear of the man who'd held her, followed through with a high kick that hammered the heel into the man's brain and still whirling counter-clockwise pulled her pistol from the holster on her thigh and leaped the fallen table. And shot Allison twice in the chest and once between the eyes for good measure and looked for Sark but he had buried himself under Allison's body and there was no time, so she grabbed her mother's elbow and pulled her to her feet and they ran. She could hear screaming from the club patrons, could hear the heavy boom of her father's pistol knocking the bodyguards down and clearing their path.

They ran, dodging between tables,

"This way," her mother shouted, and tugged in turn at Sydney's hand as the younger woman turned to fire a shot or two at the pursuit and nearly stopped in amazement as she saw Allison stand, blood still dripping down her face and chest, pushing Sark down behind her, shielding him from the gunfire as she shouted at her minions to go after Sydney. And they came, the one angrily pulling the shoe from his eye, the other from his ear, others showing the effects of her father's marksmanship, but still they came.

"Sydney," her mother pulled frantically at her arm, "run, Allison won't kill us but her goons might lose control, we need to run," and they did and fast, but the guards came even faster, stumbling as Syd's bullets hit them but still coming.

They burst out into the alley,

"That way," Syd yelled, pointing in the direction of the stashed motorcycle.

But then a man loomed out of the darkness, light from the club door catching his ominously scarred visage, a slash across one cheek, a patch over one eye, a grim look in the other and Sydney raised her gun to fire but the man lashed out quick as a viper with the sharpened end of a walking stick and flicked the gun out of her hand, she kicked then, a looping roundhouse he ducked under. He pushed her aside, sending her sprawling into her mother as he went past and with a swift and practiced movement jammed the end of his stick into the chest of the first emerging thug and the man disappeared with a sad whooshing sound and a spray of dust.

"What…the……_fuck?_" Sydney said as a second bodyguard met the same fate.

The one-eyed man pulled a walkie-talkie out of his shirt pocket, said, "I think the action is in the back alley, babe," added, "gotta go," as the back door burst open again and two more of the guards dived forward, rolling to avoid the man's weaving stick, then two more came and began to circle,

"Sydney, Sydney!" he mother said in her ear, "help me, I dropped the damn keys, I'll explain it all later…"

"But…"

And then a woman dropped out of the sky.

So logically Sydney knew she must have jumped off the roof.

Of the five story building. So not so logical but more logical than sky and at the moment Sydney would take what she could get.

She was a brunette, long hair billowing around as she dropped, wearing light colored cargo pants and a tank top and twirling a broadsword in one hand, holding something knife shaped but that seemed to be made out of wood in the other.

"Found them …oh," her mother said, squatting down beside Syd who was still sitting spraddle-legged in the alley too astonished to move. "Watch this, I've never seen one work live before, only on video…."

"One what?" Syd asked then watched silently as with the flick of a wrist the woman tossed the wood knife into one goon's chest and he exploded, another quick throw did the same to a second. Then faster than Syd would ever have believed possible the woman leapt forward whirling the broadsword in a wide arc that beheaded the two remaining guards who conveniently turned to dust as well. And then the woman grabbed the door, ripped it off the hinges and threw it down the alley and charged inside.

The man turned then, pulled a small flashlight out of his back pocket and played it over the alley until he found Sydney's gun. He popped the clip, pulled out the remaining two rounds, worked the action to clear the chamber, pocketed the bullets and held the gun out to Sydney who mechanically reached up and took it.

Her mother reached under her arm and lifted, said "Come on, Jul… _Sydney,_ let's stand up and straighten your dress so Mr….. "

"Harris."

"Harris can stop trying not to look at your legs…. Harris. _Xander_ Harris?"

Sydney watched in surprise as her mother paused, staring at the man speculatively for a moment. She was, Sydney realized, impressed. It was an expression Syd didn't believe she'd ever seen on her mother's face before.

"And you are?" Harris asked.

"Irina Derevko. And this is my daughter Sydney."

Harris held out his hand and Sydney shook it slowly, her mind still spinning.

"You got my note?" her mother said then.

"Yeah," Harris laughed. "Just about an hour ago though, the woman who received it was a little distracted last night."

"So you dusted the guitarist?"

"Yeah."

"Shame. He was quite good."

"Yeah. But the guy who wins the contest will be good too, and maybe he won't eat people for inspiration."

"Point taken."

"So, you just pulling our chain with the _Initiative_ business?"

"No. I have real information…. Maybe when we get to a quieter location."

"Yeah, sure, but you know, not that a reward isn't a nice thought, but you pretty much have us with 'help I'm being held by a vampire.' Just in case anyone asks."

_"Vampire?"_ Sydney said and then the brunette came back out through the broken doorway with Syd's struggling father slung over her shoulder.

"So, is this one on our side or not?" the brunette asked, "'Cause he's beginning to piss me off."

**-30-**

Next: **Chapter 7: The Truth Will Set You Free**


	8. Chapter 7: The Truth Will Set You Free

Chapter 7: The Truth Will Set You Free

A/N: see chapter one for disclaimer/warnings.  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Sydney:** _I've seen the footage. Mom's briefing with her KGB handler. She was sent here for one specific purpose, to steal information from you about a project you were developing for the CIA. An operation to train children to be American spies. _

_"Alice laughed: "There's no use trying," she said; "one can't believe impossible things."  
"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was younger, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."_  
**Alice in Wonderland.**

**Chapter 7: The Truth Will Set You Free**

**HAVANA**

As rescues go, Syd thought as she tested her bonds, she'd had better. And worse. At least she wasn't hog-tied in a closet with a sock in her mouth.

There had been a brief round of introductions, then they'd taken the motorcycles in convoy, Syd riding with Faith, on the grounds, according to Harris, that she was young and strong and her heart could probably take it. Harris had taken her parents on the JAWA, after a big arguement over who was riding pillion was decided by Harris flipping a coin, her mother had hiked up her skirt to climb on behind Harris while her father sat grimly in the sidecar. Then they'd arrived at the house and been ushered inside and Faith had said to Harris,

"_Bristow,_ why do I know that name from somewhere?" and Harris had answered,

"Because they're on Buffy's shit list," and Faith had said,

"Batons?" in an eager voice that Sydney found strangely ominous, and Harris had answered,

"No. Not 'til I talk to Giles, anyway."

And then they'd each been given time to use the bathroom, then Faith had stood by while Harris had tied them each securely to rather comfortable chairs in the livingroom, grinned and said,

"Now I know you didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition but you've all managed to get on the spank and detain list, and I'll point out we've refrained from the whole spanking thing here so count your blessings. Now, if I don't gag you I can count on you not doing anything stupid like crying for help, right? I know you've got questions, but it has been a hell of a long day and we'll sort it all out in the morning. Okay then, see you in the sunlight," and he and Faith left Sydney and her parents sitting silent in the dark room until finally her father sighed and said,

"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten us into."

"I got you into…." Irina said and Sydney snapped,

"Don't start."

And there was silence for a little while, then Sydney said, "Vampires?"

"Yes," Irina answered.

"I _vant_ to suck your _blud _vampires?"

"Yes."

"And Faith?"

"I'm pretty sure she's a Slayer. Sort of... anti-vampire."

"Supernatural?"

"I believe so, yes."

"And magic, too?"

"Yes. It's real."

"So when Buffy told me my memory was being blocked by a spell, that was true?"

"Yes."

"Yes, it's possible or yes, you know for certain…"

"Sydney…." Irina interrupted, "I have many things to tell you. And I suppose… I'll probably be safer telling you with your father tied to a chair, but I think we should assume that we are under surveillance. Slayers are reported to have extraordinary senses... though if I'm hearing what I think I'm hearing she's not paying us much attention just now. But I understand they have a support organization that might provide surveillance technology and we don't know what they want with us. So I suggest we keep our secrets to ourselves for the time being and get some sleep."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sydney awoke in the morning to find two sets of wide brown eyes staring at her, and then a pretty, thirtyish Cuban woman came bustling in and shrugged an apology and pulled the children away.

A little later the woman came back and stood looking at them for a moment, then crossed in front of Jack and said,

"If I untie you, you know better than to run away, right? 'Cause you know you really don't want Faith mad at you."

"Yes," Jack answered, "I believe we have some concept of Miss Faith's capabilities. We have no intention of running away. We have…questions."

"I am Dayami," the woman said as she untied his right hand, "there is a shower and toilet through that door that you may use. Then come into the dining room and I will have breakfast ready." The woman stayed and watched until Jack freed himself and started on Sydney's bonds, then slipped away.

Sydney and her father sat at the table while Dayami delivered plates of toast and fried plantain slices with cheese, rolled strips of ham and fried eggs while Irina, much to Sydney's surprise, busied herself first with plates and glasses and pouring juice, and then fussing with the Italian espresso pot and the milk and sugar until she placed large cups of _café con leche_ before her ex-husband and her daughter before making one for herself.

Sydney sat back and sipped the over-sweet concoction and watched her mother being…motherly. Wifely, even, although Syd thought she was treading on thin ground there. Her father was a little… withdrawn, still trying to process the whole _vampires are real _thing and having, Syd assumed, even more difficulty than she was. But when he snapped out of it, as Syd knew he would, she wondered if Irina's filling a plate with toast ham and eggs and serving him wouldn't seem to be more mockery than courtesy.

But she wasn't sure, really. She realized she hadn't seen her parents together, in the wild, as it were, since the trip to India and that had been strained to say the least. Still, there had been those little moments, laughing about burnt toast and ice cream. Hiking into the enemy territory, when they had stopped to eat it had almost been like a sit-down family meal. Who knew what could happen if they had time to just … be together.

Syd tried to remember, had Laura Bristow been the good _hausfrau_ in Syd's childhood? But it all was so vague, she could see bits and pieces but no clear picture of their life together, she'd been only six when Irina had torn it all apart.

And her parents had communicated while Sydney was … gone. But then apparently her mother had known of Julia Thorne, did that mean she'd known but not told her father, or that her father had known more than he told her… no. No, she didn't believe that, of the two she could trust her father. But that meant Irina had withheld information from Jack.

What was that thing Weiss liked to quote, _"The key to success is sincerity, when you can fake that you've got it made."_

Syd believed her mother loved her, she just wasn't sure how that love translated into action, how high love was in her hierarchy of values.

Syd did feel a certain empathy, she knew her mother had started young, become a spy at least in part because it had been her only way to independence, to achieve some measure of freedom. Understood that her oh-so-destructive path had not wholly been of her choosing. A path begun, perhaps, with a certain amount of idealism, just as Sydney's had.

But Sydney's time at SD6 had taken her places, led her to actions she could never have imagined when she first began the training that had seemed so exciting and worthwhile. And Sydney knew her own life in the netherworld of espionage and violence, in the CIA as well as SD6 had changed her, made her … harder, had built deceit and distrust into her very nature… and her mother had been living in that world so much longer. Was she perhaps even more alone than Sydney was? Sydney thought about how little she actually knew, did her mother have friends? Lovers?

She knew she wanted so very badly for the three of them to simply slip away, take a walk along the beach and be a family…. and she knew that Irina might well use that need against her, even if she wanted it too. Sydney wanted to scream with the sheer stupidity of it all.

Harris came down then, promising to call someone back in an hour and pocketing a cellphone, then rubbing sleepily at his eye he sat at the table with a brief,

"Mornin'," as if breakfast with the Bristows was everyday routine, and began good naturedly begging Dayami for caffeine. Sydney was startled at how young he seemed now in the morning light, the lopsided grin overwhelming the sinister connotations of the scar and the eyepatch, his loose-boned slump in the chair the antithesis of his cold efficiency the night before. He seemed almost boyish and yet Sydney could sense that her mother had gone on high alert, nothing obvious of course but Syd could see her watching him. She wanted something from him, Syd understood suddenly, and wondered what it was. And how long it would take her mother to get it.

Faith came in then, wearing a light blue skirt now and what had to be one of Harris' shirts tied up around her waist, and Sydney watched her, seeing the feline grace that reminded her of Buffy. Surely it was no coincidence that she would come across two such …. Oddly powerful women. Who were connected somehow, she'd overheard Harris last night, "Buffy's shit list."

Unlike Buffy, who would sit still with a certain calm and then suddenly burst into activity Syd saw that Faith had no stillness in her, something, a finger, a knee, an elbow, something was always moving, now mostly her jaws as she piled a plate high and began to eat. Whatever they were, wherever their speed and strength came from it was clear they weren't made in the same mold.

Dayami brought out more eggs and plantains and set them before Faith and began clearing the others' plates away. When she was finished Harris asked her to name her usual rate for an overnight stay with full board and when she named it he ordered Jack to pay quintuple the amount, at first Dayami demurred but Harris insisted,

"Trust me, they can afford it," he told her, then suggested she take this opportunity to go shopping. "You can stay if you want, but I figure we'll be discussing things you'd rather not know."

"Vampire stuff?" she asked.

"Oh no," Harris said, "much worse than that."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Faith didn't like it. There was something going on between Xander and the Russian broad, something unspoken passing between them, right in front of her.

It wasn't like he was cheating on her, or even that he would, though sex had something to do with it because it always did. And the Russian bitch was hot. Old yeah, but still built and… there was just something about the way she looked at Jack, at Xander… Faith knew that look. She'd seen it in the mirror. The fuck-me-if-you-dare look.

The daughter was built too, for that matter, but Faith didn't see her as a threat, she was hot and worked the shy smile, but Xander was used to hot girls with shy smiles. But this Irina bitch was on a different level.

So it wasn't sex, because Xander wouldn't do that. But the bitch had taken some part of him away from her. Right there in front of her and Faith didn't like it. If there was going to be some hot bitch in the room fucking with people's minds it was supposed to be her.

"Normally," Xander had said, "this is the part where the rescued people say _What the hell?_ and we say,_ Yeah, exactly,_ and answer questions. But it turns out you guys hang out with a real disreputable crowd, so I think we'll ask the questions today, and remember, the truth will set you free. First, the day after Sydney left Rome a group of commandos attacked Buffy. Sydney needs to explain why she shouldn't get the same treatment the commandos got."

"Frozen fish," Faith said.

"What?" Xander asked.

"She doesn't have a baton, and just the little clip from the pistol so, I'm thinking a frozen fish. One of the long, thin ones. It'd be different."

"That wasn't my fault," Sydney said quickly, "that was Echelon…"

"Sydney…" the old man, Jack, said.

"Dad, they hacked my file. They beat Marshall, I'm sure they know what Echelon is, right?"

"Not in detail, but yeah, it's our big electric brother in the sky, so?"

She told them about the Buffy-Giles call, and when Xander was still skeptical, told them about Marshall's report about the Initiative and the whole thinking-Buffy-was-a-cyborg thing, which Faith thought was pretty fucking funny but she noticed Xander didn't.

Faith had never really got the whole story on the Initiative. She'd been wrapped up in her own head at the time, then of course prison and by the time she was back in the world the Initiative was old news and, well, anything to do with Riley was a touchy subject for a lot of reasons. They'd told her it was just the military making a big old Frankenstein that started killing people until Buffy killed it, same old same old, so Faith let it go. Didn't seem a big deal. But she could see Xander was freaking, just a little.

He seemed to pass judgment, on the daughter, anyway, "Okay, Sydney, Dawnie put in the good word for you, and well, from what Giles' told me about your past I think maybe you're entitled to a few breaks. I mean I used to think my parents were screwed up, but ... wow."

"No fish?" Sydney asked.

"No fish. We might even be willing to do you a favor or two, just remember any favors are for Dawn's friend Sydney Bristow, the CIA can go screw. Speaking of which, Ms. Derevko, why were you being held captive by a vampire?"

"That's a long story, Mr. Harris."

"I'm on vacation. I've got time. If Faith gets bored she can always bring out the fish."

"Would you really torture a human, Mr. Harris? I thought slayers were supposed to be above that."

"Well, that's what us sidekicks are for, Ms. Derevko, you'll find I'm pretty much willing to do what is necessary, but we don't really need to go there, do we?"

"You want to go for a walk, Mr. Harris?" Irina said and Faith saw shock run across Sydney's face, saw Jack Bristow's jaw tighten just a little, but saw no surprise in his eyes. What a wack family, Faith thought.

"I dunno, my leg's a little stiff, give me a taste."

"The Initiative didn't shut down after Sunnydale, it just moved. And I don't mean your friend Riley and his little band of demon hunters. I mean the research program. They just took it out of the country."

"I might come back and tell them all about it," Xander said, nodding his head toward Sydney and Jack.

"I'll take that chance," Irina said.

"Okay, let's take a little walk then," and then Xander rose and retrieved his cane and Irina came up beside him and took his arm and they went out and just like that they were gone, leaving Faith alone with the two spies.

"So," she said, "Xan said told me she was KGB and she married you just to spy on the CIA? Even killed some agents? That true?"

"Yes," Jack said quietly.

"Damn. That's hard core. How come you don't just shoot the bitch on sight?"

Jack said, "Faith, while I am certainly grateful for your assistance…"

"But mind my own business, sure, but I gotta ask, I saw this movie once, about this sex school they had over there, did she go to that or…"

"Faith," Sydney said, "Can we go outside a minute?"

"Yeah, sure," Faith answered. As they stepped out into the back yard Sydney swung her fist hard at the back of the slayer's neck but Faith moved too fast, she turned sideways and her hand came up and caught Sydney's fist and held it just for moment as Faith looked at her quizzically. Sydney tried a kick to the back of the knee but Faith blocked that as well, then moving with lightning speed stepped forward and spun Syd around and punted her some twenty feet into the wooden fence that enclosed the dusty yard.

"Sorry," Sydney said, picking herself up slowly, "I just had to know for sure."

"That's cool, I get it," Faith answered. "Try it again and I'll break something."

"Understood. So. You and Buffy, you're the same?"

"We're both slayers, yeah."

"And slayers are…?"

"Hey, you've seen the act. Superpowers, speed, strength, kill vampires."

"Why? Why you?"

"Destiny, I guess. Which mostly means nobody knows."

"How many of you are there?"

"That's, waddya say, need to know thing. And you don't."

Sydney walked stiffly over to admire the beemer. "Nice bike."

"Yeah. Thanks. Xander gave it to me."

"Really? Nice. You two been together long?"

"Nah. Couple weeks."

"And he gave you the bike? I should …. date guys like that."

"It ain't like that," Faith said, "we've known each other a long time and the bike, it's more of a Watcher thing than a boyfriend thing."

"Watcher?" Sydney asked.

"Yeah, well it used to be every slayer got a watcher who was, like, kinda half boss and half backup. The watcher was supposed to know stuff about demons and prophecies and stuff and the slayer slays. But it didn't always work out, my first watcher got killed and my other two … one wasn't really mine and the other was a fuckup. So I been pretty much independent, but Xan, well, he's been around. He's 'bout the only guy I know I really trust to back me up, so he's kind of my watcher now."

"I see," Sydney said. She slapped at the dust on the bedraggled red dress, said, "I don't suppose you have a shirt and some shorts you could lend me?"

"Yeah, sure, c'mon," Faith said and they went back inside

"So are there … rules about fraternizing?"

"Fraterwhat?"

"Watcher's and slayers sleeping together?"

Faith laughed. "Well, I don't know about rules, now that B's making them the rules are things like _"Don't die," _and _"Don't make fun of short people,"_ but it used to be the Watcher was usually an old guy and the slayers were mostly fifteen or sixteen, so jailbait. But I bet it happened a lot more than they like to let on…"

"What? What do you mean, fifteen or sixteen?"

"That's when we're called, I think I was fifteen, I don't know, my mom wasn't big on keeping records on birthdays and stuff. Here," she added handing Sydney a tank top and cotton wrap skirt, "these oughta fit. But you ought to know what it's like, yeah? Xander said your dad put you through some kinda spy training when you were just a kid, even younger than I was, right?"

"What? Where is Xan… Mr. Harris getting all this information?"

"Giles… one of the geek squad hacked your files. So, did they like give you weapons training…"

"I don't really remember, I think it was mostly just aptitude tests. I didn't actually become an agent until I was in college."

Faith sprawled out on her bed while Sydney went to the bathroom to change, raising her voice to ask, "So what's it like, working with your father, is it cool or kinda freaky?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack Bristow sat alone at the table, sipping the cup of strong black wonderfully milk- and-sugar free coffee he'd made himself, listening to the murmur of the girltalk happening upstairs and wondered what the hell Irina … he forced himself to think of her as Irina now, forced himself to remember Laura never existed, wondered what the hell Irina was up to.

He reflected sadly on the obvious distrust, even outright distaste the young man, Harris, had for his own government. Jack was anything but naïve, but still he had a core of patriotism. He believed the American government was the worst in the world, except for all the others. That corrupt as it often was the Agency and its like were the only thing that kept the … the Irina Derevko's of the world from taking full control. And if men like Lindsey besmirched the agency, well men like Dixon, and hell, even that pantywaist Vaughn did it honor.

He began mentally composing his next message to Marshall, he needed to have him go looking for signs of this 'Initiative' being moved offshore.

He wondered if he should have Marshall search the databases for vampires. Obviously he couldn't have him looking for actual vampires, have to tell him it was a code of some kind, and just hope Marshall stumbled onto….. whatever there was.

And slayers. He needed to know about slayers. He'd seen Faith in action, leaping from table to table beheading monsters, taking down men with guns using throwing knives. And forks. And spoons. Anything that came to hand became a lethal weapon, he'd seen her take out one guard with a shotglass, casually sidearming it into his forehead and knocking him cold. No wonder the military was interested. He was interested. He imagined a team of four … such individuals, properly trained, with modern arms and technical backup… unstoppable. But that was avoiding the real subject at hand.

Slayers. Vampires. Magic, though as far as Jack was concerned, the jury was still out on that. Faith was amazing, exploding men, bizarre, but magic? Not necessarily. Still, his world had changed. Well, it had changed many times before, the computers that used to take up whole buildings he could now fit in his pocket. Marshall could sit in a room in Los Angeles and unlock a door in Madrid. That was a kind of magic. He'd learned to deal. The great communist threat that had consumed his youth and damaged if not destroyed his life had withered away into common criminality. He dealt.

If magic did exist, he'd deal with it. Learn to use it. To protect his daughter. In Jack's world that's what magic would be for. And the CIA for that matter. One single purpose. To keep his daughter safe and make her world a better place.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Vampires,_ Julian Sark thought, _are weird._ Or maybe, as he hadn't really met that many vampires, it was just Allison. He caressed her head gently, avoiding the bullethole in her forehead that was nearly but not quite healed.

She was kneeling between his legs now, suckling at his thigh. It was a compromise, he refused…. Well, _refused _was an optimistic term, in the end he knew Allison could do what she wanted, his only power over her was her affection and he wasn't sure he could count on that, since, well, vampire. Not that normal humans were terribly constant in their affections in his experience. Still he had insisted that she not mark him where it would be visible when normally attired, insisted that she not bite him but make a careful incision with a razor and drink gently, and she had accepted his terms.

In turn she insisted on drinking from him every day, just a little, her true feeding she did in private, which was fine with Sark who had absolutely no desire to watch. She teased him, sometimes, going vamp-face and tickling his neck with her fangs, but so far she'd never bitten. He had a theory that if she ever sensed that he feared her, then she would bite him, kill him even. He suspected that what she treasured most was that he still saw her as Allison, not as a thing with her, well, with Francie Calfo's face.

But Sark had lived most of his life with people who could and, more to the point, would kill him the moment he was no longer useful. Guns or fangs were all the same to him. Vampires were hardly the only life-sucking creatures walking the earth, and he wasn't thinking of demons. Sark was a survivor, he had learned early to be useful. And, of course, to be willing and able to kill as well, though he had never really developed a taste for it like some did. He was just looking for that big big score that would free him from the cycle.

A big score like retrieving the 800 million that was to have been his, before the Covenant stole it from him. If he had to to recoup, he would leave a trail of bodies to make any vampire proud.

The immediate problem was figuring out just what the hell had happened. Everything had been going to plan, they'd had Irina Derevko in custody, they had separated Sydney Bristow from the Agency and lured her to Havana, though apparently there had been a close call in Rome, Lindsey was moving faster than they'd planned on. But somehow Sydney had escaped arrest, and come to Havana, come to the club and practically turned herself over to them.

And then all hell had broken loose. Oh, he'd expected Sydney to put up a fight, looked forward to it actually, the woman was magnificent in battle. He even nursed some hopes that once she was fully aware of what had happened to her she would stop seeing him as the enemy, perhaps even as a friend. Well, faint hopes. The one thing he regretted most about his recent incarceration was that it had prevented him from meeting Julia Thorne. Sydney Bristow without all the self-righteous moralizing, that was the girl for him.

And that damned brunette with the freaking broadsword, that was the girl he could do without. _"Slayer,"_ he'd heard of one the henchvamps say before he dusted, and he'd seen Allison's severely wounded head turn and watch for only a second before she'd given up all attempts to organize a pursuit and had simply picked Sark up and fled.

Supernatural vampire hunters, Allison had explained. "I don't know that much about them. I should… spend more time with vampires," she admitted, though she still couldn't bring herself to say '_other_ vampires.' "But the young ones are so stupid and the old ones see me as a young one. And I guess not that many vampires meet a slayer and live to tell the tale, so I didn't really believe… but you now what they say about seeing. Do you think that was just a coincidence that she was there?"

"With Irina it is never a coincidence," Sark told her.

And now they were hiding in a _Vedado_ safehouse, waiting for the survivors to make contact and beginning to think there weren't any. Sark was putting off making the call to the Covenant to report his failure. He'd been unfailingly polite to Irina. Partially because he genuinely admired her, in part for this very reason… Perhaps she would allow him to join her, and protect him in return for a share of the 800 million. But what to do with Allison if Irina had managed to contract one of these slayers?

Nothing, Sark reflected, was ever simple.

Between his legs Allison finished her snack and applied the usual bandage to his thigh, then began moving up his leg to perform the part of the nightly ritual that Julian Sark infinitely preferred, it was amazing what a woman could do when she didn't have to breathe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Lauren smiled. She had good news, from her point of view at least. They were at lunch and Vaughn was sitting with barely restrained impatience as she made him wait. There had been two bursts of excitement in Lindsey's office that morning, the first an eruption of profanity that followed a called from the Chief of the Rome _Carabinieri ._

"He said," Lauren grinned, "that the next time the CIA wanted to run a botched mission his city he would appreciate it if they would come up with a better cover story than that they were trying to apprehend a five foot tall blonde cyborg. That next time he would make a formal complaint, with pictures. You should have seen Lindsey's face," she laughed, then reined herself in and put on her concerned expression.

"The other thing," she said grimly, "Echelon flagged another call with Sydney's name. It was conversation between the same Giles that spoke with Buffy and an 'Xander.' We had Marshall and Carrie cross-reffing Buffy, Giles and 'Xander' and came up with an Alexander Lavelle Harris, born and raised in…."

"Sunnydale."

"You knew?"

"No," Vaughn said impatiently, "I just saw it coming, go on."

"First of all, the call originated in Cuba, and apparently this Giles was prepping Harris for a meeting with Sydney, Jack. And Irina Derevko." She saw the stunned look in Vaughn's eyes, she reached out and laid her hand gently on his arm, "It'll be all right, Michael," she told him, "I'm sure they have a good reason."

**-30- **

**Next: Chapter 8: The Vampires Can Wait**


	9. Chapter 8: The Vampires Can Wait

Chapter 8: The Vampires Can Wait

A/N: See Prologue for disclaimer, notes, warnings

**NOAH:** _Remember when you just got back from endurance training? Before you were sent out as a field op, and you came back... and you had this incredible glow. And I remember-- _  
(Sydney smiles, embarrassed.)  
**NOAH:** _Yeah, you did. I remember thinking, "Man, this girl's really having fun." And I remember getting worried about that, because I knew, inevitably, one day you would not feel that way. That you were not aware of what you were getting yourself into. _

_It must be admitted that there are some parts of the soul which we must entirely paralyze before we can live happily in this world._ **Sébastien-Roch Nicolas de Chamfort**

**Chapter 8: The Vampires Can Wait**

**HAVANA**

Faith stood in the doorway, watched Xander shake hands with Derevko and the Bristows, and fought back against the green-eyed monster.

At some point you had to let go of how much your childhood sucked and Faith had thought she had, finally, pretty much moved on. And she got that Sydney's childhood hadn't exactly been hugs and puppies. But looking at the three of them now, Sydney and her mother looking so much alike, moving so much alike. Seeing the way Syd's father watched over her. Even watching them fight, first over who had to sit in the sidecar until Sydney settled that by getting in herself and then her parents fighting over who would drive and who would ride pillion… But fighting just meant glaring and arguing and Sydney being impatient…. It was family fighting like Dawn and Buffy did all the time. Even if Derevko had faked her death and run out twenty-five years ago a casual glance could see the three belonged together. That's what hurt, just a little, Sydney had a chance to make it better, to hang with her parents, to forgive the past, to move forward. A chance Faith…. or Xander for that matter, would never have.

Plus, both Sydney's parents were globetrotting spies and how cool was that?

But Faith was getting better, she told herself, yeah she was jealous but she wasn't hating on Sydney for having something Faith didn't. I've practically fucking achieved enlightenment, Faith thought.

She'd liked Sydney, they'd talked easily enough, Faith had pulled out her weapons duffel and seen Syd's eyes light up. It was nice to talk with someone who appreciated a well-balanced knife when they held one. They'd played with blades and told war stories, Faith decided that someday soon she was going to make Xander take her sky-diving. Faith gave Sydney the scoop on vampires, some of the more common demons. It had been fun.

The JAWA started up and they were rolling out the back gate and gone with a couple friendly waves and Faith saw Xander sag and shake his head and turn back to look at her and she knew their vacation time was over.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"This world is older than either of you know," Irina said. "Contrary to popular mythology, it did not begin as a paradise. And as I am sure you have noticed, it has not yet become one. Current circumstances notwithstanding," she smiled, tilting her toward the blue water glittering in the bright sunlight, the palm trees swaying in a light breeze on the beach outside Irina's villa.

They had entered with weapons drawn, moving swiftly through the empty rooms with professional skill. If nothing else, Syd thought, at least we _work _well together. So long as we have a common enemy. Sydney went up to the roof and stood watch while her father scoured the house and grounds for booby-traps and eavesdropping devices, finding none, and Irina tested and re-armed her security systems.

Perhaps, Jack had suggested, it would be better if we tried to blend in amongst the tourists until we determine the next action, rather then hiding in the one place the Covenant is likely to look.

But in my house, Irina explained, vampires won't be able to enter. They won't dare make a direct assault with humans, I have defenses and they need to take both Sydney and me alive. Beside staying here is a show of confidence, if I can persuade Mr. Harris to join us, maybe we can convince the Covenant that we've got a slayer on our side and that will back them off at least long enough for us to plan our next move.

So here they were, freshly showered and clothed, sitting in Irina's spacious office, bathed in light flowing through the bulletproof glass wall that over-looked the pool, and the moment of truth had come.

Irina began selecting books off the shelves and laying them out on the desk, Jack leaned over and picked one up, looked at the title, put it down.

"I never thought I would say this," he said, "but, the vampires can wait. Tell us about Julia Thorne."

Sydney watched her mother smile sadly and come around to sit on the edge of the desk.

"Jack," she said, "you have to remember, they were watching you closely, even as careful as we were they caught you, imprisoned you for communicating with me. In time I would have found a way to tell you. But my first concern was Sydney's safety. And Sydney," her mother leaned forward, reached out and took her hands, held her with her eyes glistening slightly with the hint of pooled tears, "you were_ happy._ We used to have lunch together, sometimes, when we were both in Rome. We'd go shopping, once or twice to a museum. There was one gelato stand you were particularly fond of, down by the Trevi fountain. A few times I came to your apartment and we had dinner, just you and me and that cat that insisted on riding on your shoulders, a couple times your friend Carlo joined us."

She stood back, wiped her eye and went around to sit behind the desk, added, "Jack, perhaps you can understand how much that meant to me, just to be able to stop in a store and buy my daughter a sweater, or pick up a bottle of wine for dinner."

Sydney felt her own eyes welling with tears, how often had she wanted the same things, day to day mother daughter stuff, and now she'd had it and didn't even remember.

"But how," she started but Irina answered without needing to hear the question,

"I know you don't remember Julia, but Julia remembered being Sydney, remembered her past. She just didn't dwell on it. Let me be clear, you were you, Sydney. Just unbound. Free. At peace. You were only Julia Thorne because Sydney Bristow was a dangerous name."

"But… If I was still … me, how could I just let Dad go to prison… how could I not tell Vaughn…"

"You didn't know of your father's imprisonment. You just said that … that they were better off not knowing. And then you refused to talk about it. As I said, I would have told your father in time but Vaughn… was none of my business."

"But… what did I do, all those weapons in that secret closet, what did I do?"

"The same thing you did for the CIA. You stole things. Data mostly. Two paintings, I believe. Some jewelry. You're very very good at what you do, Sydney, and you love to do it."

"Who did I work for?"

"Yourself. Freelance. For the first time in your life Sydney, you did what you wanted to do, you lived for yourself, not some stupid corrupt government agency. I will not apologize for my part in making that happen."

"What about Lazarey….. did I kill people?"

"Yes."

Sydney winced, cringed like she'd been kicked in the gut, her father came out of his chair, kneeled beside her, took her hand, glared back at Irina,

"Did you have to…"

"She asked, I will not lie to her, not anymore. About anything. Sydney…._Sydney!"_

"Yes?"

"It's not like you opened fire on the widows and orphans in the park. You removed a few… three to be precise, as far as I know, vicious thugs from the world. So what. Do you think a license from the thugs at the CIA makes it any different? Do you feel remorse for shooting Allison, what, three times now? Lazarey was no better than she was, just not so resilient."

"Allright, " Jack said, "enough. You made your point. But Sydney has never been an assassin."

"And if she'd been ordered to kill Sark? Or Sloane? Or any other target really. Do you really think she would have refused? Look this takes us nowhere. The only question is, do you want to have those memories back? All of them, you won't be able to pick and choose."

"Yes."

"You're sure? The feel of the knife as it went in Lazarey's throat, the smell of his blood, you want that back?"

"Yes. All of it. I need to know."

"Then we need to talk about vampires." She handed each of them a book. "Mr. Sark, intelligent young man that he is, treated me with courtesy, but he wasn't foolish enough to let me have a phone. I need to spend a little time finding out which of my loyal lieutenants has tried to take advantage of my absence. Do your homework. We'll talk in a couple hours."

For a moment Sydney thought her father was going to take offense at being so dismissed, but she saw her mother's eyes meet his and something passed between them and he nodded and took Sydney's arm, and they carried their books out to the luxurious living room… _Her mother's source of income…._ She'd worry about that later.

Her father went to the bar, poured himself a neat scotch and her a vodka and brought it to her where she had sagged on the leather couch. She tossed back the shot and shuddered with the burn and closed her eyes a moment.

Killer. Sydney Bristow, the happy hitman, she thought.

No. Let's not think about that. Let's think about… vampires. She opened her eyes and looked down at the book in her lap. Oh, for chrissakes, she thought, you've _got_ to be kidding me.

_Bristow's Demon Index….? _

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So when will I get to see Javier?" Dayami asked, after she had finished reporting on the night's events.

"I don't know," her aunt answered. "It's not the easiest thing to arrange in the best of times and things are in a bit of an uproar. I won't have you meeting him somewhere in a graveyard at midnight and he won't be to eager to come to the slayer's house…. So Derevko fell afoul of the vampires."

"You know her?"

"She is Russian mafia, a gangster who discovered magic, she came sniffing around, we did our best to convince her we were only silly old ladies selling love potions to gullible young girls and sex potions to gullible old men…"

"Which is true enough…."

"Of course, but it's not all we do…. I don't think we fooled her. That woman, she has death in her eyes. The men think it's sex, but it is not. Is she still at your house?"

"She was when I left."

"You must warn the slayer not to trust her."

"I think Xander had a pretty good idea who she was. I don't think you need to worry…"

"Pah, that boy, _el ron, la playa, la musica,_ pah. He doesn't know what he's getting into. We must… take steps. Be prepared to help. Perhaps then the Red Witch will truly owe us a favor."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They sat on the seawall eating roasted peanuts out of rolled newspaper funnels and watching a young_ jinetera_ guiding her white-haired and sunburned tourist along like a tugboat bringing a liner into port. There were, Faith thought, many types of vampire in the world.

They had spent the day with Guillaume, snorkeling mostly. They'd smoked a couple bowls with the captain who had then discreetly gone below while they had made love in the rubber dinghy trailing behind the larger boat, bobbing in the waves, where it seemed just for a little while longer that they were floating in a void between sea and sky, free of the dark world and their duty.

But now as the evening darkness settled down around them the time had come when they could put it off no longer.

"You kinda missed the whole Initiative thing, didn't you?" Xander said

"Yeah. Pretty much," Faith answered.

"Well, the first thing you gotta know, the Frankenstein guy, Adam. Buffy didn't kick his ass. Not by herself I mean. We had to do this spell where we joined up. Giles was the Brain, I was the Heart, Will was… the spleen or something and Buffy was the hands… and we all hooked up with the Spirit of the First Slayer and big mojo. And Buffy went all super-slayer and ripped Adam's guts out. But I guess maybe that was a one time thing… or we would have used it against Glory or Caleb… And there were… side effects. Anyway, what I meant before I went all Willowbabble there, the Initiative was genuinely dangerous."

He paused, dug out the last peanut, ate it, and crumpled the paper and put it in his pocket .

"We kind of like to let it be known that we destroyed the base. And in sense that's true. But in a sense that's more true the Initiative destroyed itself. Once we killed Adam we were more on a rescue mission than a search and destroy. I don't know whether Adam went evil because Walsh made him that way, or because of the Hellmouth. Or maybe it's just any time you build demon parts into something the evil gets built in as well. But the truth is the Initiative was playing with powers they didn't understand and it blew up in their faces. They made mistakes. But a second time around… it will probably blow up in their faces again. The question is how big a bang, and who will get killed in the fallout. But if they don't blow up, if they get it right, that would be even worse. I trust Irina about as far as I can throw that yacht, but if there's any truth in what she told me, we have to…"

"Xan," Faith said, taking his arm, "you don't have to talk me into this."

"I just hate to disappoint you, I know you wanted to go on to Jamaica…."

"We'll get there. Ummm, Xan, don't be mad…"

"Ummm …. Okay?"

"I'm having a good time and all. But the vamps here are getting a little thin on the ground and the ones I do find are kinda like shooting fish in a barrel, you know?"

"Bored?"

"Just a little."

"Don't be mad?"

"Maybe."

"Me too. Just a little."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sydney laid out the weapons she had taken from her mother's substantial armory. Her mother wasn't really expecting trouble, but, she said, just in case, be ready. Two heavy caliber Glock handguns, flare guns, two SPAS-15 twelve gauge shotguns, a H & K 416 rifle. A box of grenades. A machete. The guns fit comfortably in her hands as she loaded up, the smell of gun oil pleasant, even comforting. This was what she knew. And why not?

She was a killer. An assassin.

She'd killed before. That she remembered. In combat. On a mission when things went pear-shaped. She'd fought. She'd killed. That was different.

That wasn't the same as putting someone in the crosshairs and coldly pulling the trigger. Or slitting a throat. For money. That was murder.

She felt bad about that. But, not _that_ bad. She felt bad that she didn't feel worse.

She didn't know how she felt. She knew her young self, just out of the training, would have been horrified, but had she just grown older, more callous. Or...

They'd done something to her brain. This Initiative thing, whoever they were.

So had her mother. So had her father, back when she was young, a child, he'd trained her, formed her.

She thought of all the names she'd traveled under, all the roles she'd played, and never once felt like she didn't know who she was, underneath it all. The world had shifted around her, but she'd always felt a solid sense of self. She lied and spied, but she was Sydney Bristow and she knew who she was.

Until now.

She slapped one of the Glocks into a shoulder holster and slipped the harness on. She went to stand by the windows and watch the water grow deep blue then purple merging into the black as the swift tropical night fell, trying to think about something simple, something that made sense. Like vampires.

"When I heard you were dead," her mother had said, "when I heard you had died in a fight with Allison Doren I put out a contract on her, I wanted her, dead or alive, preferably alive. But she had apparently disappeared. Two months later I got a call from a man in, shall we say, the business. We met in a small hotel in Amsterdam, we went to his room, Allison Doren was there on the bed, quite dead. I made sure it was her. She was cold. No breath, no heartbeat. I paid the man."

She had paused, looked into the middle distance, "I have seen a lot things, Sydney, in the long years, I have been on battlefields, been in Russian prisons on both sides of the bars… I thought I'd seen it all. And then I saw dead Allison Doren sit up, leap on her killer and hold him from behind and block the door. And she stared at me, her eyes went yellow, her face grew… grotesque, ridged, inflated. Looking at me all the time as she bit into the man's neck and drank him dry, and let him fall. And then she was on me, knocking my gun aside and pinning me on the bed, I tried to fight back but she was too strong, she bent down so that I could feel her fangs on my neck, bit down just enough to draw blood. And then she stood back, and told me you were alive. That I could have you back. For a price.

"Then we chatted awhile. She was lonely. She had liked you, you know. And Tippin. Especially Tippin. She said being a vampire meant she didn't care anymore. But she remembered caring. I paid half what she asked to bring you back, the other half to be paid on delivery."

"So I waited, and while I waited I investigated. I had heard things, of course, vampires, werewolves but I always thought it was metaphors, toughguy nicknames, like the Nazi guerrillas. My Rambaldi research had taken me places, I'd heard about witches and demons and so on. I just didn't believe any of it. But it's all there," she had reached out, tapped the books on the desk, nodded toward the computer, "in plain sight if you just know where to look. If you know what to believe. Vampires, demons. Witches. Slayers. An entire world that lives out of sight. Hidden. Sound familiar?" she said with a smile, and went on.

"But Allison told me, someone knew, someone was mixing the worlds, that's why they'd taken you, Sydney. You were selected for your skills, your natural abilities, to be… a test subject. Or breeding stock. Or both, I don't really know. They wanted Allison too, for the same reasons. But you killed her, you know, that night. She was dying of shock and blood loss, so one of the vampires sent to capture you both turned her. Made her a vampire. But they weren't ready for a vampire with Allison's skills and she escaped. And returned to the world she knew."

"Two weeks later Allison brought you to me. You were… robotic. You tried to escape, I had to restrain you. We found a small chip embedded in your skull and a second implant in your abdomen that apparently released some kind of chemical compound on instructions from the chip. I had them both removed. I am sorry for the scar but there was a small explosive device in the implant, we literally had to cut enough of you out to make the implant believe it was still attached long enough to get it into the detonation box. You began to come around, in about two weeks you seemed almost normal, just…. happy. Free. Uninhibited. You became Julia Thorne."

"Wait a minute," her father had said, "vampires were sent to capture both Sydney and Allison? Do you mean the people who … took Sydney are vampires, or they have vampires working for them…"

"I don't know, Jack. Understand, I'm guessing a lot. Allison has been my only direct source. And even if she's telling me the truth there's a lot she doesn't know either. In vampire terms she's barely been born. There's a lot of information available, there's also a lot of bullshit. I've tried to verify… what I can, but who knows? I've come across at least four vampires who call themselves _Dracula_. I've found there are demons who will ... do business. But if they tell me their name is Vurglsnuft the Voracious and they're four hundred years old, how do you check?

"But I've learned what I can. It was no accident that I chose Rome as the place for you to set up a base, Sydney. A home. It was no accident that you lived over a slayer either. That took a lot of research, and a bit of luck. And I guess it paid off, if not quite the way I had in mind. I just figured they'd think twice before sending vampires after you, living there."

"Who's 'they'?" her father had asked.

"They call themselves _The Initiative_. But who and what they are exactly, I don't know. But Sydney does."

"What?"

"Or rather Julia Thorne does. Sydney, I don't know exactly what happened but you came to me with all hell on your tail. All hell including demons. Some with tails. We ran. I took you to a witch I had discovered in Hong Kong. I had her wipe your memory. You cannot be forced to tell what you don't know."

"_You_ did this to me?" Sydney had cried out, outraged. Betrayed.

"You must understand," for just a moment a note of pleading came into Irina's voice, then she caught herself, grew hard, even a little harsh, "we were fighting demons. And losing. We made a deal. I gave them your memory. They let you live."

"You gave them my memory."

"A crystal. It binds the spell. Break the crystal, you get your memory back."

"So the only way…."

"Is to locate The Initiative, raid it, get past the vampires and demons, find the crystal and break it. Yes. And while we're at it, destroy them so they can''t strike back."

"In other words, I'm screwed."

"You could just let go. Let your father and I could build you a new legend, a new life. Or…"

"Or…..?"

"If we had a slayer on our side we might just stand a chance."

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 9: Clubbing with the Spyfam, Trippin' with the Vamps**


	10. Chapter 9: Clubbing with the S

Chapter 9: Clubbing with the Spyfam, Trippin' with the Vamps

A/N: See Prologue for Disclaimer/warnings/_Alias_ notes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Transported to a surreal landscape, a young girl kills the first woman she meets and then teams up with three complete strangers to kill again."_ - **Marin Paper TV listing for "The Wizard of Oz"**

_They are not all saints who use holy water._ -** English Proverb**

**Chapter 9: Clubbing with the Spyfam, Trippin' with the Vamps**

**HAVANA**

Dayami was relieved, a little. Ever since Faith had casually jammed Xander's cane into the Old One's chest Dayami had felt slightly nervous around her.

Dayami was sad, a little. Nervous or not she still rather liked the couple, and as paying guests went they were generous and flexible, appreciative of her cooking. As it was Xander had paid her for another week, asked her to keep the room available just in case.

"We have a little business to take care of," he told her. "Might take a day, might take a lot longer. We might have a couple friends coming to join us, but let's keep that between ourselves, okay."

He'd given her a list of numbers she could call if she felt supernaturally threatened.

But mostly she was disappointed. She hadn't thought Faith and Xander, mystic warriors or not, were the sort who would work for someone like Derevko. But, she shrugged, I guess we all have our price. She had passed on her aunt's warning, and Xander had smiled and thanked her, told her not to worry.

Now they were all packed up, the duffel and the suitcase stacked in the hall by the back door and they came into the diningroom to join her for a last meal, making small talk about her kids, about their day on the water. Then as she was clearing the table there was a strange glow and suddenly two cell phones appeared. It seemed bizarre for some reason, magic cell phones. Magic transporting people, once you got over the whole_ magic?! _thing seemed natural, but magic and cell phones. Wrong, somehow. But there they were, one dark blue, one bright pink and with a grin Faith quickly reached out and grabbed the blue one. Which immediately turned pink in her hand.

"What the fuck?" she said and Xander started laughing. Faith grabbed the other phone that had turned blue but at her touch reverted to bright pink, with tiny flower and cuddly unicorn designs.

Xander held out his hand and she slapped one of the phones into it where it immediately turned blue.

"Red's never really gonna forgive me, is she?" Faith said.

"It's just what you get for flashing her in Cleveland," Xander said. "If the worst thing she does is give you a pink phone you can consider yourself forgiven."

Then Xander had dialed out, said, "Hey, G, secret agent X9 reporting…" and took the phone out into the backyard, where Dayami could hear him talking, then arguing for awhile, but she couldn't make out the words.

"So?" Faith asked when he came back in.

"Would you believe, Giles says 'Be careful'."

And then Xander was giving her a big hug, and Faith punched her lightly on the shoulder, told her to take care and they were out the back door, the motorcycle started up and with a last toot on the horn they were gone into the night and Dayami sagged into a chair wishing to hell she had just left that purse in the closet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Puta!" her father shouted and pushed and Sydney tumbled out of her mother's Hummer, the door slammed shut behind her and the heavy vehicle sped away. She dragged herself upright, straightened her skirt, wiped ineffectually at the tears streaking mascara down her cheeks in black lines, and began staggering down the dark street, occasionally shouting profanities after the long vanished truck.

She walked on, one block, two, she could hear music ahead, a little tinny, someone's radio playing, she could hear the low murmur of male voices. She stumbled on.

"Señorita," a voice called, high pitched, a woman or a child, Sydney paused, looked around, "Señorita," the voice called again, in Spanish, "you shouldn't be here."

"Don't go that way, Señorita," a second voice called out, "those are very bad men, Señorita." Two figures came out of the shadows, young girls, thirteen, maybe fourteen, "Please, Señorita, where do you live, do you have a hotel, you shouldn't be here, very dangerous at night here."

"I'm fine, thank you," Sydney answered in fluent Spanish and tried to walk on but the two girls ran to catch up with her, pleading,

"Señorita, for your safety, come this way," each reaching out to take an arm.

"I'm fine," Sydney growled, pulling away, "go away. Please…errk" as the girls suddenly grabbed her arms and lifted and Syd felt herself being carried rapidly backward into the black-on-black shadows of a narrow alley, fingers like iron clamps gripping each bicep. She struggled, kicking wildly, was rewarded with a slight grunt as one of her knees connected with the ribs of one of the girls. But it was far too little, too late as she was slammed back against a wall and held in place as girls closed in, each nuzzling at her neck…

And then suddenly the two girls levitated, turned to face each other and slammed their foreheads together with a loud _thok._ And fell in a heap.

"Nicely diverted, Syd," Faith said.

"But…they're just girls," Sydney gasped out.

"Hey, it's an equal opportunity afterlife. I did this one vamp, he'd turned his whole family, and he had like seven kids. Aged from two to thirteen. Sneaky little bastards, had all these hiding places around the house. But the baby was the worst, damned anklebiter could crawl like you wouldn't believe, finally had to pin him to the floor with barbecue fork and kick his head off."

"What? You… kicked a two year-old's head off?"

"Yeah. Every mother's fantasy, huh? Look, Syd, it was a vamp. Just cause it was in a little body don't mean it wasn't evil. Like these two," she said, bending to pick up the two moaning vampires by the scruff of their necks and carried them out into the lights of the approaching Hummer. Faith dropped one of the vampires onto the ground, put her foot on the back of her neck and held her down, freeing up her right hand to pull her broadsword out of the scabbard strapped to her back. She impaled the second vamp and affixed her to the wall like a butterfly on a pin. The Hummer came to a stop and Xander, Jack and Irina got out and came forward.

"So," Faith said to Sydney, "you wanna do the honors, your Spanish is way better than mine. Just ask her where the biggest demon bar is."

Syd stared a moment at the skewered girl…._vampire,_ then spoke briefly and was answered,

"_¡Chinga tú madre, puta!" _

Syd turned to Faith, started, "She said…"

"Yeah, I got it," Faith answered, "you got the squirter, Xan?"

"Yeah," Xander answered, tossing her a small plastic squeeze bottle, which she passed on to Sydney.

"Give her a little squirt in the face and ask again."

"What is it?"

"Holy water."

Irina stepped forward, said, "Here, let me," but Syd held the bottle away, said,

"No, I'll do… what needs to be done."

"If it'll make you feel better, you can ask nicely again," Xander said. "Or you can remember they were going to kill you just now. That always works for me."

Sydney sent a tentative stream of clear liquid into the girl's face and suddenly there was smoke and her face changed, the eyes went yellow and feral, the brows bulged, the fangs emerged, clearly visible as the vampire screamed in pain. Sydney heard her father curse in surprise. Sydney forced herself to stay steady, trying to ignore the smell of burning flesh.

"Jack," her mother said and her father stepped forward and took the bottle from her frozen hand, stood between her and the vampire. There was more smoke, another scream, then some rapid Spanish then Jack turned and named a club and Irina shook her head,

"I know that one, it's… a normal club."

_"Debajo, debajo," _the vampire shouted, underneath.

More Spanish between Jack and the vampire, Jack checked with Irina again,

"That sounds possible."

Xander stepped forward, offered Jack a stake, "You want to get a feel for it?" he asked. "In the heart."

Jack took the stake and nodded. Xander grabbed the sword and pulled and as it came out Jack struck and there was a whoosh and the vampire was gone.

"Yeah," Xander said, "just think of the shit people would get up to if humans did that. So," he added turning to Syd, another stake in his hand, "If we're gonna do this thing, maybe you should get a taste too."

"What?"

Xander slapped the sharpened length of wood into her hand, said softly, "I know you're not a slayer, and we've got your back. But you're a fighter, and I know that look. You'll feel better. Trust me."

And he stepped back and to the side and Faith let the second vampire up and it came at her. It still looked like a girl and Syd hesitated, but as she barely blocked the vampire's first punch and the pain ran up her arm like liquid fire she felt the reluctance leave her. She lashed out with a kick that the vampire took with a grunt of pain but without flinching, grabbing her leg and shoving so Syd fell backwards on her ass. She felt the rage rise, _I'm getting seriously fucking tired, _she thought, _of getting my ass kicked by women half my size._ She kicked her legs upward and snapped to her feet, ducked the vampire's next blow and took the girl's arm in a come along grip and slammed her into the wall and the fight was on.

The vampire was strong and fast, but clumsy, unprepared for Sydney's skills, again and again she hit the vampire with full force kicks, knees, elbows, that should have put down a man of Dixon's size but only slowed the vampire a moment, knocked her back a little, but only for a second before she came again. The fight went on, Syd began to gasp for breath, felt her lungs burning, felt herself slowing, the vampire's blows that before had missed her by inches now missed by millimeters.

And then suddenly the vampire reared back and hung squirming in the air and she realized Xander had her in a full nelson and he was saying,

"Stake. Stake. Stake," in a steady cadence until the concept penetrated and she looked around and found the stake where she'd dropped it, picked it up and whirled and slammed it into the vampire's chest and it exploded into dust and Syd fell forward into Xander, who caught her, let her rest against him for a moment as she gasped for breath. Then gripped her biceps and set her upright, grinned, said,

"Feel better?"

"Yeah," she said and grinned back. "Much better. Now what?"

"Now we get you cleaned up. Then we go clubbing."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So," Sydney said, "what do you wear to a demon bar? Horns and a tail? I usually like to blend in with the clientele."

"Me? Broadsword and a bad attitude," Faith answered. "You should probably wear running shoes. Seriously." They were back at Irina's house, Faith sprawled out on Syd's bed watching as Syd, back from her shower, pulled out her box o'wigs and opened her make-up kit. "So, you ready for your pop quiz?" Faith asked.

"What?"

"You've just had your first lesson in the Xander school of vamp fighting, I wanna make sure you're up to speed before we hit the big time here. Wadja learn tonight?"

"What do you mean?"

"Yeah, I hate the whole q and a thing too, lemme spell it out. One, sometimes vamps look pretty and helpless but they ain't. Two, you can fight them but, three, you're gonna get tired before they do, so use a weapon and go for the kill. You got some sweet moves, but when you throw a vamp into the wall the first thing you do is not kick'em in the kidneys, first thing you do is pick up your damn stake, yeah?"

"I see that."

"And most important of all, don't take them on by yourself if you don't have to. Cause by yourself out there tonight, Syd, you were dead. One more thing. You know when you dusted that vamp and you fell into Xander and he held you for a moment and you thought how nice it would be to just curl up in his arms…."

Sydney looked away, blushing slightly.

"Hey, it's cool. I ain't mad or anything. You just need to know, long as we're all working together, Xander's gonna be doing stuff like that. Teaching you stuff. Holding your hand when you need it. That's what he does. Listen to him. Truth is, I bet if you and him threw down on the mat you'd kick his ass. But he's been fighting vamps since he was sixteen without any super powers and he's still around, he knows his shit. Just don't make any more of it than it is, right?"

"I understand, Faith, I really didn't mean to…"

"Hey, I know. I'm just sayin'…. I ain't mad, and I ain't jealous, and you can tell that by the not being on the floor with a stake up your ass. And let's keep it that way, yeah?"

"Of course."

"Listen, after we're done with business tonight, if you wanna go out, pick up a boytoy to work the _uhhhh_ outta your system, I'll watch your back. I know a couple guys, pretty good dancers, and most guys that can dance ain't bad in the sack, yeah?"

Syd smiled shyly, almost tempted.

"Thanks," she said, "but you know, actually this is going to be my first night in my mother's house since I was six years old, so, not tonight."

"I got a feeling your old lady would approve but suit yourself," Faith bounced off the bed, crossed the room and paused in the doorway, said, "And Syd, don't sweat the outfit, where we're going, no one's gonna care what color your hair is."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They parked Irina's Hummer in the alley behind the club and gathered round the back where Jack began to distribute weapons until Xander interrupted,

"Let's leave the heavy armaments, shall we? The only one you're gonna hurt with that stuff is me. Keep a pistol each if it will make you feel better but nothing automatic."

"We are professionals, Mr. Harris," Jack snapped. "We can handle our weapons."

"You stay cool tonight and I'll think about it, but right now, you look like an axe man to me," he said, digging into Faith's duffel and retrieving a double-sided weapon with a leather shoulder sling. He looked at Irina, asked, "Sabre?" and was rewarded with a pleased smile and nod and he dug for a moment then handed her a scabbard. She pulled the blade out and made a few practice swings.

They moved down the alley following Xander who marked the landmarks the vamp had given and poked around with this walking stick until he found the spot in the wall where his probe plunged easily through the illusion of stonework. With a bit of chalk he marked the outlines of the opening then reached back to lock wrists with Faith and stepped forward through the wall, and disappeared, then poked just his head back out and said,

"Come on down," and they followed and found themselves in a wide stairwell leading down to a set of bat-wing doors that Faith threw open wide and they went in.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack Bristow had been in some rough bars in his time. On the Afghanistan border where any man wearing less than an AK might as well have been naked, in Washington where men killed with a smile and the stroke of a pen. But this was something altogether out of his understanding. He knew one thing for sure. He was never eating lobster again.

The room itself was not unpleasant, a bit dark and smoky, but large, even spacious. Like everywhere else in Cuba, there was a live band, in this case a reggae group working through the list of classic Marley. A well appointed bar ran the length of one wall, and except for some of the things floating in jars on the shelves behind it, it looked normal enough. There were many normal enough, human looking customers, though Xander assured him most were vampires. But not all, which Jack supposed, was actually stranger.

And then there were the fish things. Squid seemed be the dominant theme, lots of tentacles about. But Jack could swear he'd seen at least two hammerhead sharks walking by, and various humanoid crustaceans, who apparently didn't share Jack's sudden squeamishness as shrimp cocktail seemed to be a favorite bar snack. There were other…things as well. A few with fur, more with reptilian features, some nearly human but for the horns or the tails or the blue skin.

All of them gathered now in irregular lines about four deep around Faith as she laid a third severed head on a central table. She stood back and raised her dripping broadsword and held it like a conductor's baton.

"Once more, with feeling. Repeat after me. _Slayer."_

"Slayer," came a rough chorus.

"Smartass demon."

"Smartass demon."

"Dead demon."

"Dead demon."

"Are we clear now?"

"Are we…" pause, mumbled cacophony of yes's.

"Allison Doren. Vampire. Julian Sark. Human. I want them. _Alive._" She held up her hand and Xander tossed her a rag from the bar. She inverted one of the severed heads and using the ruptured neck as an inkwell, dipped the rag and began writing a phone number on the wall.

"You give me the info that leads me to them, you get your bar bill paid for a month," Faith announced. "The sooner I get this tip, the sooner I stop coming in here and cutting off the heads of anyone that pisses me off. Any questions?"

"You sleep with her?" Jack asked Xander who was standing beside him, leaning back against the bar. Xander turned and looked at him, not answering but his eyes asking, 'Where you going with this?'

"You are a very brave man," Jack said.

"Maybe," Xander answered, nodded lightly toward Irina who was watching Faith at work with a slight smile and approving eyes, "but if you sleep with her tonight, you're braver."

Ignoring that, Jack nodded back toward the demons that were slowly edging back to their seats as Faith finished writing.

"What happens if they all attack us at once?" he asked.

"We die," Xander answered. "But they won't. That's why humans rule the world and demons don't."

Xander shifted, sidled up to Irina, Jack heard him ask, "See anyone you recognize?" and then their voices went too low for him to hear, then Xander came back over, pointed with his eyes, spoke softly,

"See the vamp over by the big spittoon, next to the green demon with the dead chicken on his head? Black hair, pirate shirt?"

Jack nodded.

"That's our best bet. You and Syd do your thing, come back and get Irina and go upstairs to club normal, take the indoor exit and leave the alley door clear. Faith and I will stay and watch your back and we'll meet you at the bar in fifteen."

"What happens if he catches us?"

"Faith cuts off his head and we go to Plan B. But I thought you guys were pro's. Don't get caught."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, that was fun," Faith said, joining Xander at the bar after the Bristows had left. "Any luck?"

"Says she recognized the vamp in the pirate shirt."

"The one who just slipped out the back?"

"That's the one."

"They get the tracer on him?"

"So they say. This works out we'll have to get with Giles, get some of those tracers for the girls, make tracking the vamps back to their lairs a lot easier."

"Careful, Xan, you get too hi tech you'll take all the fun out of it. The spyfam find their way upstairs?"

"Yeah, the inner stairs are back in that corner. They found them quick enough."

"Did Irina ask directions?"

"Not that I saw. But maybe she asked first thing when we got here. She seems smart enough for that and I might have missed it."

"Maybe. You think Jack picked up on it?"

"Beats me, there's so much unspoken shit flying between those two professional liars that I'm not even gonna try to figure it out. I'm just gonna try to avoid the crossfire. Shall we?"

"Let me just take care of the band first." Faith went over and leapt lightly up on the low stage, reached down and began ripping chains out of the floor so that the band was no longer attached to the stage, but only to each other. She bent down and inspected the drummer's ankle shackle, then came back over to the bar and reached over to grab the terrified bartender.

"You're gonna go unlock them now, yeah?" she said and the bartender nodded frantically. "Look, they're musicians," she added. "you don't have to chain them up. Just give them free drinks and pay them a little and they'll come back on their own."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Julian Sark cursed as the knocking on the back door grew steadily louder. With a pistol in one hand and a stake in the other he approached the portal and peered through the peephole, stepped back and opened the door.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"The slayer's working for Derevko now, man, looking for you," the vamp said. "She was in the Dante Club taking heads and kickin' ass."

"So you ran right over."

"Yeah, man. That _chica_ is scary fast, man."

"Oh shit," Sark said, pointing, "there she is!"

"What, where?" the vampire said turning to look and Sark slammed his stake into the back of the loose white shirt and sighed in relief when the vampire went to dust.

"Thank god your heart was bigger than your brain," he told the floating dust cloud and slammed the door and turned and ran back to pause outside Allison's private room. Entrance was normally verboten but this was an emergency so he knocked once and went in.

She was sitting in a rocking chair, naked, with an equally nude young man curled in her lap, her face buried in his neck, Sark saw the blood dripping down her chin as she looked up. She took just a moment to come out of the feeding haze to register his presence,

"We need…." He started, but she screamed at him,

"Get out, get out, get out, get OUT!"

"I'm sorry, but…"

In a rage she threw her meal aside and leaped at him, grabbed his arm and threw him out into the hall so hard he hit the opposite wall and slid for fifteen feet.

"Stay out!" she shrieked and slammed the door.

"Well. If you insist, dear," he said, picking himself up. He ran upstairs to his own room and grabbed the flight bag he kept always ready, and ran for the back door, but skidded to a stop when he heard the Hummer engine grumbling just outside. He spun and went for the front door, stopped and peeked out just in time to see the motorcycle come to a stop. Okay, he thought. Plan B it is.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

The steady knocking woke her, Dayami threw on a robe and went downstairs, wondering if Faith and Xander had come back. They'd never woken her late before, at least not by knocking, if they came back in the wee hours Faith just leapt up to the balcony. Maybe she was hurt, Dayami thought and hurried to pull open the back door and she stopped in shock.

"Javier?"

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 10: Naked and Bombed**


	11. Chapter 10: Naked and Bombed

**Chapter 10: Naked and Bombed**

A/N: See prologue for Disclaimer, warning, notes on _Alias_

_You don't quite believe what you know, do you?_ **Lena Olin to Robert Redford,** _Havana,_ **Judith Rascoe/David Rayfiel**

**Irina: **_There were times when the illusion of our marriage was as powerful for me as it was for you. _

**Chapter 10: Naked and Bombed**

**LOS ANGELES**

There she was again, the little smartass brunette avatar, swiveling her hips and waving at him then blinking off the screen.

Marshall was going a little mad. He understood, theoretically, that it was possible, even inevitable, that somebody out there was better than he was with computers, but in his heart he didn't believe it. But he was being beaten.

And what really, really, really bothered him was that he had no idea how.

He knew by whom, sort of. The one organization that kept popping up on his searches on Buffy Summers and associates was something called the Watcher's Council. And he'd found the bastards. In London, and he was pretty sure they had a mirror site somewhere in the States, though he hadn't been able to pin that location down yet. But he couldn't get in. Every time he thought he'd found a backdoor he would suddenly find himself in the middle of a Britney Spears fansite or a set of insurance company actuarial tables, once in the Pentagon where'd he'd had to disconnect in hurry, and several times he'd found himself looped back into the CIA systems, once in his own personnel file where he'd found someone had drawn a moustache on his mugshot.

After about the fourth or fifth time the avatar had started appearing after each sudden relocation to … taunt him.

They weren't perfect, whoever they were. He'd caught them piggybacking on the other deeply forbidden and highly illegal search he was doing on Mr. Bristow's behalf, trying to find signs of a renewed "Initiative." He'd caught onto the extra bandwidth being used as they watched over his shoulder, he was sure he had them then as he traced that signal, bouncing back and fourth across the globe, then finally to London, to Rome…. and suddenly he was downloading a catalogue of bondage gear, and the damned brunette avatar was there, wiggling her hips and waving.

Not that he'd found anything. Not a new Initiative, anyway. He found bits of pieces of obsolete intel that dated as far back as World War Two, some sort of submarine rescue program that had been abandoned. The Initiative seemed to bounce around from sponsor to sponsor, the Navy in WWII, the Army in Korea, CIA in Vietnam, and the Sunnydale version seemed to have been under the Dept. of Special Research. The one thing each incarnation seemed to have in common, sudden abandonment and high percentage of casualties.

It was a dilemma. A foreign… entity had accessed the deepest, darkest most secret levels of the American government. It should be reported. Someone at the highest level needed to know. But in order for Marshall to report it he essentially had to confess to Federal crimes carrying life imprisonment penalties, and while Marshall knew he played fast and loose with the rules sometimes, he really didn't think he deserved that. Especially now that he was about to be father.

Which was what made the latest … visitation so disturbing. A "Dating Compatibility Questionnaire" had just popped on his screen, first question,

_"Do you like girls?"_

And up in the right hand corner the little brunette avatar wiggled and waved.

"Watchya doin' Marshall?" a voice said in his ear and Marshall hit the panic button to clear the screen and whipped around, started,

"Don't do that …. Oh, hi Carrie."

She glared at him. "We need to talk, Marshall."

"Oh, is it the baby?" he asked anxiously.

"No," she snapped, fighting hard to hide her smile. "The baby is fine. Do you know what time it is?" she said, putting her hand on his wrist, covering his watch.

"Umm, well," he looked around.

"Exactly," she said. "Let's go."

"But…."

"Marshall."

"Yes, dear."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**HAVANA**

It was comforting, the rumble of the hummer engine, the greenish glow of the GPS screen, the blinking dot indicating the tagged… subject. This was familiar, this was her world, a small little island of working technology, of gentle electric glows moving through the dark night. This was home. It would be okay with her if they spent a few hours just cruising.

She'd thought she'd been coping well with the whole magic and vampires concepts, she'd dutifully read through the books her mother had given her, treating them much as she would any mission briefing.

Truth was Sydney could don the purple wig and the dog collar, the black leather, could paint her face and blend in with the freaks in the strange clubs if the mission called for it. She would walk the walk, talk the talk, but to her it was all Halloween and the people for whom that world was real, who dressed that way out of choice… she thought those people were weird. She could ape them, but understand them, not so much. But those people were a Sunday school choir compared to what she'd seen tonight.

She'd tried to keep it together playing demon spotter, matching beasts with the books, she'd seen a _Skrell-nic!-Nic!t _, a _Fyarl_, a _Vorshark…_ and it had helped, a little. But mostly, she knew, she was numb. She'd been frightened, terrified even, on missions when things went wrong, when bullets started flying, only a fool wouldn't feel the fear. But she'd learned to cope with that, to turn that kind of terror into energy, into action. But stepping into that smoky room full of monsters had touched something … primal, nightmarish. She was so glad her father was there with her, she could see in his eyes that he was feeling the same horror, but he was staying outwardly calm, steady. If he could do it, so could she.

Her mother had stayed cool as well, but her eyes held an almost eager fascination that Sydney actually found a little disturbing.

A mission, she told herself, it's a mission and mission-Sydney can handle anything.

And now they were there, at the next stage, her mother bringing the Hummer to a stop outside a rather elegant old house and suddenly Harris, who had been riding silently beside her in the backseat came alive and began issuing orders, distributing weapons. With obvious reluctance he'd handed both her parents shotguns, delivering yet another lecture on avoiding friendly fire, make sure you see the yellow of their eyes, aim for the knees to stop them, for the neck to kill, remember if they aren't dust they're dangerous. Then told them to wait outside to watch for a closing trap or to knock down escapees.

And then he'd turned to Sydney, said, "You hanging in there?" and peered closely at her for moment, seemed to like what he saw and grinned, added, "Attagirl, big freak out when it's over but you're gonna be okay," and gave her a pat on the shoulder that she should have resented as condescending but found comforting just the same. He dug in the duffel, handed her a taser and a katana, said,

"I know we want her alive, but remember rule one…."

"Don't die."

"Don't die. Try to stay on my left, if you would, that's my blind side." He spoke briefly into his walkie-talkie, then he led her up to the door, tried the knob and found it locked, grinned, said,

"Well, doesn't hurt to try," then leaned back and swung his double-bladed axe to smash the lock and Sydney kicked the door and it flew open and she followed him inside.

They met up with Faith in a central hallway, she held up her hand for silence and pointed at a heavy wooden door. She crept forward, casually broke the lock and pushed the door open and went in, Harris followed and then Syd who stopped in horror on the threshold, smelling the blood in the air.

Francie… Allison,_ Allison,_ Syd chanted to herself, stood naked in the center of the room, straddling the body of a young man whose blood she was using to paint herself with, thin stripes on her cheeks and forehead, broader striations on her ribs and thighs, her breasts covered in the red liquid as if they'd been dipped.

Harris started forward, but Faith stopped him, said,

"He's dead, Xan, we're too late for him."

"That must be Sydney's influence," Allison smirked, "she's always to late, aren't you, Syd? Too late for Danny. Not a clue about Francie, didn't even know she was gone, did you? Some friend you are. Sitting and eating ice cream while Will was dying in the bathtub…."

"Will's alive," Sydney burst out, jerking free of Harris' restraining hand on her arm, "Will's alive and free and you… you're just a dead thing."

"Will's alive?" Allison said, her voice shaken just a little, the sneer fading for a moment, then returning, "Liar."

"Look, let's do old home week later," Faith interrupted, "you, Allison, is it? You wanna get dressed and come easy? 'Cause if you make me get all messy I'm gonna make it hurt."

"But Slayer," Allison said, "I got all pretty just for you."

It just kept getting worse, Sydney thought, she knew it was Allison, or this thing that Allison had become… she knew it wasn't Francie, the more she talked the easier it was to feel it as well as know it, but still watching her change, Francie's stolen face bulging, her eyes changing, fangs emerging… it was one thing to hear her mother describe it, quite another to see it happening right in front of her.

Allison started toward Faith, then turned suddenly to leap at Sydney, Sydney felt Harris push her aside and step in front of her, axe raised, but a sudden kick from Faith plucked Allison out of the air and slammed her against the far wall and the fight was on.

Allison bounced and came to meet Faith's charge, then stepped quickly aside, caught her in a judo hold and threw her against the wall so hard Faith stuck there for moment, tangled in the broken slats and Sydney braced herself, expecting Allison's attentions to come her way now that Faith was out. Except that Faith was up again, grinning even, nodding at Allison,

"Sweet move," she said as if they were just friends sparring, coming forward a bit more carefully, the two began exchanging blows, mostly blocked but some getting through though it was hard for Syd to tell for sure as they were both moving so fast, the rapid yet erratic sound of their fists colliding with flesh sounded like a speed freak playing with his new drum set.

Syd heard running feet behind her, turned and saw Jack and Irina appear in the doorway to stand, staring, unresisting as Harris quickly pushed the shotgun muzzles down toward the floor.

Twice more Allison managed to take Faith down, once with a trip that actually allowed Allison to mount her for a moment but Faith had bridged and thrown her off, once with an over-the-hip throw that sent Faith into the wall again… only to have her rebound and catch Allison with a backfist that sent her flying back into the other wall, leaving her own impression like a cartoon character.

As fellow martial artist Sydney was almost… _almost_ … beginning to feel sorry for Allison as time and again a perfectly executed _jiu-jitsu_ hold or _krav maga_ blow was simply powered aside by Faith's superior strength and speed as she began to push Allison back into the far corner. More and more often Syd saw Allison's head snap back until, desperate, Allison dropped and went for the takedown and caught Faith's legs and threw her down on her back and they rolled around on the floor for a moment before Faith emerged on top and began raining down blows that Sydney could feel shaking the floor.

Writhing frantically Allison managed to get her hips up and wrap her legs around Faith's neck in a triangle choke. Faith reared back and slammed Allison back down into the floor, then up again and spun smashing her head into the wall, then again, this time actually jamming her head through the wall and pinning her there. Harris started forward, axe cocked but before he could get there Faith forced her free arm in between Allison's legs and with twist of her shoulders pulled free of the choke and tumbled backwards, gasped out,

"I got it, Xan," and bounced back to her feet and rotated her neck a couple times, grinning, and as Allison pulled her head out of the wall Faith launched a kick that caught the vampire in the ribs with a sickening crunch of breaking bones, then threw a flurry of punches that were simply too powerful to be blocked and finally Allison slumped to the floor. Faith pulled her arms behind her and reached for the handcuffs Harris was holding out and locked them in place, then a second set around the ankles and it was over.

Faith stood, panting, covered in dust and the blood from Allison's paint job, now smeared over both combatants. She stretched, rotated her neck again, said,

"Damn, bitch has some skills, damn near had me," and Harris, reaching out to wipe some blood away from Faith's nose which was bleeding just a little, said,

"Yeah, we definitely need to work on your grappling," and Faith had leered back,

"Oh, you think so, do you, lover. Think I need to practice _grappling,_ do you?"

"Yeah," Harris had answered, straight-faced, "I bet Syd's all black belty, she could probably show you some moves."

"Perv," Faith said, smiling. She turned toward Jack and tapped his shoulder, "Come on old man, let's you and me go see who else is home."

While they waited Harris pulled the counterpane off the bed and covered the young man's body, then began looking around until he found clothes and a wallet, he held the ID out to Irina.

"Anyone you know?" he asked and her mother shook her head no.

"All gone," Faith said coming back. She picked up Allison who was groggily trying to sit up, threw her on the bed and wrapped her up in a sheet, tossed her over her shoulder, said, "Let's go," and Sydney followed her mother out into the hall, "You coming, Xan?" Faith added.

"In a minute," Harris said, and Syd saw a momentary bit of sadness flash across Faith's face as she said,

"Oh. Yeah. We'll wait outside," and began practically herding her and her mother down the hall.

"What?" Sydney asked.

"Just a little clean-up," Faith answered.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Julian Sark sat in the hidden basement and watched the monitor as the one-eyed man raised his axe and swung and decapitated the dead man with a single smooth blow, the meaty thunk making him wish he had thought to turn the volume off. Not that he was squeamish, particularly, but some things are just unpleasant and are not needed in one's memory bank.

He was glad he'd had it on earlier though. Tippin was still alive. That could be a useful thing to know.

And another thing he'd learned. Slayers, very very tough. But not invulnerable.

He watched as the one-eyed man placed the man's head back next to his body and closed the eyes, pulled the counterpane back up to cover the remains. Then he went to the closet, took an armload of clothes and left. So they weren't going to kill her right away, he thought. Interesting. Maybe she'd even escape. That gave him pause, but he shrugged, worry about that when it happened.

He waited until the outdoor cameras showed Allison being loaded in the Hummer like a sack of potatoes, watched as it turned and drove away with the motorcycle trailing behind.

Good-bye Allison, he thought. It had been an interesting phase in his life, but he wasn't too unhappy it was over. A man can live with a mad vampire for just so long before his nerves began to fray a little.

He armed the incendiaries, set the timer for fifteen minutes, took a last look around and slipped away into the night.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack Bristow sat at the kitchen table sipping fifteen year old Laphroaig. Irina had teased him about drinking Scotch in Cuba but Jack wasn't ashamed to admit that he wanted one thing, just one tendril of normality to cling to. Scotch was his drink. And God did he need one.

He was tired. No, that wasn't the word for it. He was beyond tired and out the other side. Far too tired and or wired to sleep. Over the years he'd trained himself to take sleep when he could get it, but it wasn't working tonight.

Irina busied herself behind him, putting together a tray of Cuban sandwiches, the steam from the _plancha _perfuming the air.

"You've gone native," he told her.

"I adapt. I'm just going to take these out to the kids," she said with a smile.

She was smiling even wider, to the point of grinning when she came back. "They're skinny-dipping," she said. "Want to join them? … I'm kidding, I'm kidding. About joining them anyway." She sat, poured herself a couple fingers of the Laphroaig and took a sip.

"So," she said. "Here we are. You must be hungry. Can I fix you something, I thought maybe we'd have something a little … more civilized, as I recall you were never much of a sandwich man…"

"Don't," Jack said.

"What?"

"Play the good wife. We're here, I'm here because Sydney needs your help. I can feed myself."

"All right. However you want it, Jack." She paused, took another sip, caught his eye, went on, "I know you don't … _can't_ believe me, but I would have chosen you if that were possible. I would have betrayed them. The KGB. My country. All of it. But the FBI was closing in. I'd killed. I would have gotten the death penalty. I would happily have lived with you as your wife… but I wasn't ready to die to… what? Prove my love on the gallows? I left. I made a new life. I let Laura Bristow die in that crash.

"She was a happy woman, mostly, Jack. If I … play the wife now it's because those are pleasant memories for me, or if you will, bittersweet memories of happy times and it pleases me to recreate them a little, with you and Sydney here. Tomorrow, if you like I can hire a new cook and a housekeeper and make this into a hotel. But for now, this is my house, you are my guest, as your host may I offer you a light supper?"

"Of course."

"If it makes you feel better, I'm mostly going to open cans."

"Much better," Jack said smiling. "Just as long as it's not spam."

"I never… well, there was that once, wasn't there? I am sorry."

"It was useful. I used to threaten Sydney with it, eat your vegetables or next time we're having spam."

"So," Irina said as she retrieved two cans of black beans from the pantry, "what do you think of Harris?"

"I don't know yet. He seems competent enough if a bit … casual. But he's the first superhero sidekick I've met so it's hard to judge."

"You remember I told you I'd come across four vampires calling themselves Dracula? Well, this is the third "Xander Harris" I've met. I rather think this is the real one though. Not only is he accompanying an actual slayer, he's really missing an eye. Plus you should see his body, he looks like a tyrannosaur used him for chew toy with all the scars."

"I'm not sure that counts in his favor. Scars often indicate… a lack of judgment."

"It's a point, but it counts toward authenticity. You met Buffy in Rome, right?"

"Briefly. Sydney spent… more time with her."

"Yes, well, you don't realize what rarefied circles we're traveling in. In the supernatural world meeting Buffy is like, oh, I don't know, having breakfast with Elvis. She's legendary. And so is Harris, in his own way. He's a survivor, and I admire survivors."

She poured the beans into a saucepan, put it over a low fire, and laid out green peppers, a pineapple, limes and couple mangos on the center island cutting board, and began efficiently slicing.

"You really believe in the supernatural?"

"Jack, we have a vampire chained up in the garage."

"Yes, I know. I'm not saying I'm not… at a bit of loss. But I can think of explanations for what I've seen that doesn't involve magic. Those things in the bar could be genetic mutations. As to the vampire, the way her face altered, the fangs… it's not unheard of in nature, think of a cobra for example, the hood expands the fangs come out. A nictitating membrane could explain the eyes. I admit the tendency to explode is a puzzler, but I could suggest some sort of catalyst carried in the chest cavity that when released causes a chemical chain reaction … I'm not saying I'd believe a word of it if I hadn't seen with my own eyes… but I'm not convinced we should automatically jump to Anne Rice without stopping at H. G. Wells first."

Irina mixed the sliced fruit and peppers in with the simmering beans, turned to the refrigerator and retrieved a plate of raw porkchops. Jack continued,

"After all, it was science that altered Doren's features, not magic. You never met Sydney's friend Francie but I assure you Allison now looks exactly like her. When she's not showing her fangs anyway."

Irina began dipping the chops in olive oil and garlic, said, "And Faith?"

"Well, Marshall has a theory that Buffy… was mechanically enhanced. And again, there are many examples in nature of an animal's strength being out of proportion to their size. I know physics supposedly sets limitations, that you can prove mathematically that dragons can't fly. But if you see a flying dragon, shouldn't you check your math before you automatically assume a wizard did it?"

"Well, I see how you managed to not get caught up in the search for Rambaldi like Arvin and I did," Irina said. She laid the oiled chops on the broiler pan, put them under the fire, took another can from the pantry, this one asparagus. "But how do you explain the books, Jack? The history? Some of those … things you saw in the bar, there are pictures of them in books hundreds of years old. And I assure you, Jack, these things are not limited to Cuba, they are not the result of a Soviet Dr. Moreau…"

"Natural mutation?" Jack said.

Irina laughed, "Well, I suppose it depends on your definition of 'natural', doesn't it?" She bent to the oven and flipped the chops, then put glasses and silverware on the table, retrieved a bottle of white wine and gave it to Jack to open and pour while she arranged the plates, artfully laying out the asparagus and the black bean and fruit salsa, added the still sizzling chops and brought the plates to the table and sat down.

"Oh, that looksh nicesh," Sydney said, slurring just slightly. She stood dripping in the doorway, leaning against the jam, wearing only a beach towel she held up with one hand.

"Sydney," her mother said, "would you like some, there's enough…."

"No, no, you two…. Have a nice supper, I justth came… for some more limes if you've got them."

"Of course," Irina said, and got several from the refrigerator, put them in a small bowl and put it in Sydney's free hand, "Having a good time?" she asked.

"Yes, Xandersth funny," Sydney answered and turned to leave.

"We're right here if you need us."

"Don't worry," Sydney said with a smile, "I'm not as think as you drunk I am," and walked off in the slightly too steady gait of the pleasantly snockered.

Irina sat down again, sipped her wine and watched Jack dig into his chop.

"You know," she said, "for a man whose daughter is getting naked and bombed with a couple of strangers not fifty feet away you're remarkably calm."

"Sydney is an adult," Jack said, "And after tonight… on top of all the other difficulties she's had to deal with … To be honest, the phrase that comes to mind is that sometimes a man just needs to get drunk and cry in his beer. I think Sydney needs it tonight, and I'll say this for your Mr. Harris, I suspect he's very good at being cried on. If he and Faith want to take her to bed, she'll probably be better for it."

"You're wise, for a man," Irina smiled.

"Doesn't mean I want to dwell on the subject."

"Of course."

"So, tell me about the legendary Buffy, then."

"Okay. Well, according to legend she's died and come back anywhere from one to five times. It's said that she killed a God, that in a fight she can be in two places at once, that if she sleeps with a vampire the vampire will be cursed with a soul and have to do good deeds for the rest of its life. Which is apparently a fate worse than death if you're a vampire. Though I imagine the whole sleeping-with-vampires thing is a slander, like Catherine the Great and the horse. Just like Harris has supposedly slept with every female demon in the western hemisphere with an actual compatible orifice….There's also a story that Buffy killed the real Dracula, by biting him and drinking his blood. And so on. Probably ninety percent nonsense, but you saw what Faith can do. There's at least a little flame under all the smoke. Of course there's another story, that at one time Buffy and Faith were enemies and they fought and Buffy killed her by stabbing Faith in the gut with her own knife…"

"Faith doesn't seem that dead to me."

"No. But she does have a scar. One scar on an otherwise unmarked body, a thin white line on her abdomen, looks like a knife wound to me. Jack, I don't know where the truth is. But there is one consistent story at the heart of the bullshit. Up until Buffy there was only one slayer, one slayer at time, a lone warrior against the demons, when one died the next was called. The average slayer lasted a year, maybe two. Then Buffy was called, and everything changed.

"Like the slayers before she had a watcher, though he was said to be a bit of a rogue. But unlike the other slayers she also had friends who fought with her. She had Harris, and a girl named Willow Rosenburg who is apparently a witch, the four of them became known as the Scoobies, and whatever the truth is about who they fought, one thing I know. They're still alive. And the name "Scooby" is spoken in hushed tones by creatures out of horror movies.

"All my sources say that Buffy is the oldest slayer on record, and that now there are tens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of slayers around the world, and Buffy is their acknowledged leader. Whatever these people are, they're winners, Jack. They're survivors. It doesn't matter if it's magic or science or natural mutation, if we're going to get Sydney's memory back, if we are going to completely destroy this Initiative that kidnapped her, we need them on our side. And, since he's the one who's here, Harris is the key. If he and Faith can do it on their own, so be it. But if they fail, then Buffy and Willow and Giles come running to the rescue. Do you understand me, Jack?"

"Yes," he said, because he did. He smiled, "Absolutely. What's for dessert?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack was just pouring the last of the wine when Faith appeared in the doorway, carrying a mumbling Sydney like a sleepy child. To Jack's relief they were both clothed in the terry cloth robes Irina had set out by the pool.

"Hey, sorry to bust in, but I forget where sleeping beauty's room is."

Irina rose, said, "This way," and they paraded down the hall and into Sydney's room and Faith laid her on the bed,

"You take it from here, yeah?" Faith said, "Poor Xan hasn't been teased this bad since he was dating Cordy, so I better get back before he starts without me." And she was gone.

Jack stood in the doorway and watched as Irina tucked her daughter in, paused a moment to smooth her hair, to bend and kiss her forehead, unwrinkled now in sleep. Then she came and stood beside him a moment, and they stayed still for just a little while, watching her sleep, then Jack stepped back and she pulled the door shut.

From the far side of the villa they heard Faith cry out in pleasure, Irina laughed softly, took a couple steps, turned back and held out her hand,

"Jack…. as your host, may I offer you the complete hospitality of the house?"

"You know, in the bar I asked Harris if he slept with Faith, I told him he was a brave man. You know what he said?"

"What did he say, Jack?"

"That if I slept with you I was braver."

"So," Irina said. "Are you?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I can smell the dawn," Javier said. He was sitting on a chair in the backyard of Dayami's guesthouse, idly tuning the guitar he'd been playing for most of the night. "I have to go soon. Unless…."

"No," Dayami answered from her own chair just inside the open doorway.

"I'll just leave this here then," he said, laying the guitar carefully down on the step.

"You can take it with you if want," Dayami said.

"No," he answered, "this guitar I play only for you. May I come again tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight, Javier."

She sat rocking, watching the light outline the trees, then creep across the yard, she waited until the doorway and the guitar were fully bathed in sunlight, then she stepped stiffly out and picked up the instrument, took it in and put it away. She made breakfast for her children, got them on their way, then went to bed and cried herself to sleep.

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 11: Sympathy for the Vampire**


	12. Chapter 11: Sympathy for the Vampire

**Chapter 11: Sympathy for the Vampire**

**A/N**: See Prologue for Disclaimer, Warnings, _Alias_ notes

_You have learned something. That always feels at first as if you had lost something. _  
**H. G. Wells**

**Kerr: **_We had no idea that the sixteen Next Generation weapons would turn out to be children._  
**Sydney:** _They were being trained as sleeper agents?_  
**Kerr: **_That appears to be the case. See, the best spies have certain traits: proficiency with numbers, three dimensional thinking, creative problem solving. These abilities are all in evidence as early as five years old. _

**Chapter 11: Sympathy for the Vampire**

**LOS ANGELES**

Marshall came suddenly awake and looked around. He was home, in his own bed. He could smell bacon cooking. He was, he knew, in deep deep trouble.

He got cautiously out of bed, pulled on a robe and tiptoed toward the kitchen where he could hear movement. He peeked in.

Oh god.

She'd cleaned. Carrie had cleaned his kitchen. She only did that when she was really really mad at him. He could smell coffee too, and when he peeked in a little further he could see her there, stirring something in a bowl. Batter. She was making pancakes. He edged quietly in and sat meekly at the table, she turned and smiled. She poured him a cup of coffee.

I'm dead, he thought.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**HAVANA**

Sydney opened one eye, slowly, carefully. She saw bottles.

One bottle Perrier. One bottle vodka. One bottle orange juice. One bottle aspirin. All lined up on the low table next to the bed. She started to sit up and somebody hit her on the head with a rubber mallet. She winced and started, very, very slowly to sit up and ease her legs out bed. She sat a moment, arms on her knees, head on her arms, staring down at the bucket she decided she didn't really need.

She reached out, managed to open the aspirin bottle with only a couple small bursts of profanity, took six, and washed them down with half the Perrier bottle and after a four-alarm belch felt immensely better, very nearly human….

No, she thought, that phrase was never going to work for her again, not-human had a whole new meaning for her now.

She tested her memory, she remembered standing by while Faith and Xander had washed Allison off in the poolside shower. She remembered Allison, gagged to stop the steady stream of abuse that she had been heaping on Sydney, staring at her. She remembered being unable to look away from the pure hatred in Allison's eyes, wondering, what did I do her? _I_ didn't murder _her _friends, I know why I hate her, why does she hate me?

And Faith looking up at her a moment, then stepping away to stand by Sydney's side and say,

"She's jealous. You have every thing she doesn't. People who love you. Cool new friends. _Life._ Believe me, I know what's the what here. You can't dust her yet, 'cause we need to talk to her but don't turn your back on her, yeah? You know better than to do something stupid like give her a sporting chance, right?"

"Yes," Sydney had managed to answer, feeling her throat suddenly constricted, fighting back the sudden need to cry. _People who love you._ Not in front of Allison, never in front of Allison, she chanted to herself and forced it back. Faith and Harris took Allison off and chained her up in the garage.

She remembered thinking she should go inside, go to bed, get some rest, but the idea of laying down and closing her eyes filled her with horror. She went inside, picked up a book, tried to read…. Not happening. She stood, she paced, she thought of going to find her father but decided she really really didn't want to talk about it all just then.

She went back outside by the pool, deep-breathing the night air and fighting to control the growing need to scream as the images of night kept rolling across the inside of her eyelids, the bar full of monsters, Faith beheading demons, vampires nuzzling at her neck, exploding at the end of her stake, Allison leaping at her covered in blood…

Faith had come back outside and stepped fully dressed into the shower, rubbing ineffectually at her shirt trying to get the blood and dust out, then said,

"Fuckit," and began stripping off. Syd had turned away to discover Harris limping awkwardly up beside her, cane over one arm using both hands to hold a tray with glasses, limes and a big bottle of rum.

"Here," she said, "let me," taking the tray, hearing the glasses start to clatter she realized she was shaking. She set the tray down on a table by the pools edge, pulled out a chair for Harris to settle into, sat down across from him. She braced herself for the pep talk she didn't really want but was too polite to object to.

He filled her shotglass to the brim and, with a grin poured one for himself about half full, touched glasses and toasted,

_"To the living," _and drank and stared at her with his one good eye until she gave in and knocked her own shot back, the rum running warm down inside her.

"Look up," he told her, "see the moon, it's not quite full but it will do. I have a friend who is a werewolf…"

"A werewolf," Sydney remembered saying, feeling a sudden need to giggle. "You have friend who is a werewolf." It was, at least, going to be a unique pep talk.

"To be fair, he's guitarist, who happens to be a werewolf," Harris had said, he poured, and they touched glasses,_ "To the dead," _he said, and they drank. "But this story is about the werewolf," he continued. "He went all over the world, India, Nepal, Tibet, Romania, Canada, searching for the secret to controlling the wolf inside him. He did his chants and burned his herbs, and he got very good. He took control, he could go out in the full moon, and walk past a butcher shop, even talk to old girlfriends. But he knew that he didn't have the full answer yet, he could still feel a hint of the wildness, the need to howl."

He poured again, touched glasses, _"To the one's we're not sure about,"_ and they drank, Syd could feel the warmth spreading now, across her back, into her thighs. "And then one miserable day in Nebraska, when nothing had gone right, his guitar case got stepped on, the van broke down, the band had a fight, suddenly it came to him, the truth about the beast inside."

He poured again, touched glass, _"To the truth,"_ and they drank. "Are you ready, grasshopper?"

"Ready, sensei," she'd replied.

"He realized it wasn't the wolf that still needed to howl. It was him. The man. Every once in awhile, particularly on a night when she's seen her first demon and dusted her first vamp, a man, speaking in the universal sense here, you understand, 'cause I may only have one eye but I'm not blind, a man has just gotta howl at the moon. So. Are you ready? On three. One two three," and Harris had given out with a long yapping howl and Sydney had dissolved in giggles.

"Pathetic," he'd told her. "What are you, a wolf or a hyena? 'Cause, trust me on this, wolf is better. Now _howl._" He held up the bottle, said, _"To hell with glasses,"_ took a pull and passed it to her. It had taken two or three more tries to get past the giggling but she had howled, and he was right, it was freeing, it was good, with her head back and voice raised she could almost see the clenched tension leave her chest and fly out into the night in a silver stream with black edges. As pep talks go, she'd thought, that was pretty painless

The rest of the night was a bit vague. She remembered Faith emerging stark naked from the pool and swiping the bottle and diving back in, she remembered stripping off herself and going in to chase after. She remembered joining forces with Faith to chase Harris down, strip him and throw him in the water. She remembered laughing. A lot.

She remembered sitting on one side of the jacuzzi while Faith and Xander had cuddled on the other, listening to her going on about…. Something. Probably Vaughn.

Oh, God, she thought, it must have been Vaughn, she remembered crying.

She remembered Faith telling Xander that he would have to tell Oz that story sometime, bet he'll almost smile. She remembered asking who the hell Oz was, if he was a Wizard of some kind. And laughing far too long. She remembered an argument about leprechauns.

She remembered crying some more, her head on Xander's shoulder, she remembered laughing some more, remembered choking, trying to smoke one of Faith's cigars. She remembered the horrors on her eyelids slowly fading.

She remembered her mother's hand on her shoulder, her kiss on her forehead and finally, peace.

She showered quickly, dressed in the slacks and shirt that had been laid out for her. She found her watch and realized it was past two in the afternoon. The house was quiet, she got a coke in the kitchen and went looking, found her father in mother's office, book in hand, watching something on a computer screen.

"Hey Dad," she said, "where is everybody?"

"Your mother and Faith went shopping," Jack answered, "Mr. Harris is, in his words, playing 'good cop.'" He pointed at the computer screen showing what she realized was a feed from one of the security cameras, she saw Xander, slumped lazily on a chair in the garage, apparently chatting amiably with Allison.

Sydney crossed the room, stood by the window. "It seems strange doesn't it? The sun is shining, the sea is blue, I can see a seagull riding on the waves. So … normal. Like nothing happened, we didn't see a bar full of … demons, we didn't kill two vampires…"

"I know what you mean," her father said.

"Can I ask you a question? About last night? Afterwards."

"Of course."

"I don't know how much attention you paid to…. The pool area."

"I think I have a general idea, what's your question?"

"Did I seem …like _me?_ It's not that I never get... drunk. As an undergrad, I wasn't a wild party girl or anything, but I went out bar hopping with friends sometimes. Will, Francie and I, on a Saturday night, we'd get a little tipsy. But this was… different. I didn't keep my guard up at all. It just seems like last night was…. something _Julia Thorne_ would do. Not Sydney Bristow."

"Well, considering the unique quality of everything that happened last night I'm not sure it's fair to make any comparisons," her father slipped a marker in his book, set it aside. "If it helps, I should point out, that, as I believe you know, there was a time in my life, for a few years after your mother left when I was known as … a hard drinker. It was exaggerated, of course. But there was some truth to it. You should know it's not that I drank myself to sleep every night. It's that from time to time I got drunk and did something… a little crazy. So, for what it's worth, last night, that was a very _Bristow_ thing to do."

"Thanks, Dad," Sydney said, coming to stand beside him, to lean against his shoulder. She waited a beat. "Like what?"

"What do you mean?"

"What sort of crazy things?"

"That's classified."

"Dad, surely the Agency can't……"

"This has nothing to do with the Agency and you don't need to know. So, tell me, now that you've become… intimately acquainted with Mr. Harris and his supremely tactless girlfriend, how would you describe him? Is 'legendary' a word that leaps to mind?"

"We weren't _that_ intimate. But no, legendary is not the first word that comes to mind. Why?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Marshall had put it off as long as he could. He ate the last bite of pancake, he sat back, he took a deep breath,

"That questionnaire, I swear, it just popped up on the screen…."

"What questionnaire?" Carrie asked.

Oops.

"Oh, nothing important, just this hacker that… what did you want to talk about?"

"What are you searching the black budget for, Marshall? You've got people in very high places very upset."

Oh shit. We'll have to run for it. No. Not we, I, I can't make Carrie….

"Don't worry," Carrie added hurriedly, "they don't know it's you. I know it's you because I know you. But they don't. And pretty soon they're going to give up and come ask you to find the culprit and … have fun with that. I am."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, who do you think Lindsey came to make sure the NSC was in on the hunt? He's got Lauren Reed going by my desk at least once every hour for updates."

"Oh… Sorry. Who… else is upset?"

"Department of Special Research, mostly. Kendall's been on the phone with Lindsey at least three times. I have to update some DSR liaison once an hour as well. At least this way when I can't find the hacker whose office I happen to be able to see from my lowly workstation in the central room I can blame it on having to spend all my time reporting the progress I haven't made. It's the Bristows, isn't it?"

"What… don't ask me that, okay?"

"Okay, I'll take that for a yes. Marshall, you know Jack Bristow will throw you to wolves without a second thought if it suits his purposes."

"Mr. Bristow wouldn't do that."

"Oh, yes he would. He wouldn't do it without reason like some here, but if he had reason, it'll be sorry Marshall, I did it for Sydney. Of course, really, you're doing it for Sydney, too…."

"Carrie, I swear, Syd and I are just friends…ow." You wouldn't think a simple finger flick to the forehead would hurt that much, Marshall thought.

"Of course Marshall, Sydney would never … sell you down the river like her father would. I know, I know, everybody loves Sydney. And Marshall, I know you believe you're doing the right thing. You probably are. Just be careful. Cover yourself."

"Of course."

"And don't get cocky."

"Yes, dear."

"And tell me about this," she slapped a folder on the table, Marshall flipped it open, began reading, it was his own report that he'd given Vaughn… except that it wasn't, it had been… edited. Re-written. "That's your work," Carrie went on, "Want to tell me how Lauren Reed got a hold of it?"

"But…. I didn't… I only gave this to…. Mr. Vaughn, but he wouldn't…"

"I see. This is what I mean, Marshall. Vaughn has…. Conflicts. He's trying to have it both ways and he left you hanging. If they ever really investigate this, they'll find you. Just remember who we work for, Marshall. Spies. _Professional_ backstabbing liars. And they don't give you all those nice toys to play with for free. Now, take care of the dishes and let's go to work."

Whew, Marshall thought, that wasn't too bad. The federal government is after me, but Carrie's not even really that mad, so, cool.

So, Marshall thought as he sat down at the main workstation in his office, the DSR has something to hide, does it? Let's just see what that is, shall we?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**HAVANA**

"Sydney," her father said, with just a little edge in his voice, "I'm not saying you need to sneak in their room and, well, somehow I don't think Faith keeps a diary… I'm just reminding you that we don't really know what their agenda is. Harris was pretty insistent on talking to Allison alone today. Just because he's straightforward about the fact that he's keeping secrets doesn't mean they're benign secrets. There's just so much we don't know."

"I know, Dad, I know. I just…. hate spying on people I'd like to consider, well, potential friends anyway."

"We just don't have any choice right now. Besides, with Faith I doubt you'll have to do anything but listen. Just be ready to … spend time with her."

"Like Mom's doing now?"

"Yes. Irina felt that Faith… might respond to a little motherly attention. And sisterly. Harris I think we treat more like a colleague. With due deference for being on his turf. Let him… teach us things."

"You and mom worked all this out?"

"Yes. Over supper. Look, Sydney," her father said, pointing at the computer screen, where stepping forward Sydney could that Xander and Allison were…..laughing together. "This is what we have to remember, we are the amateurs here. We need to make the best use of what skills and resources we have at hand. Let's go see if we can get in on the joke, shall we?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His "Hey, Syd," was warm enough, his grin friendly with no hint of a leer. He'd refrained from any hangover jokes, for which she was grateful. And then he'd ignored her. Not deliberately, not pointedly. It was just that all his attention was on her father, watching him. There was anger there, Sydney realized. He was still polite, a bit overly polite, actually. Faith supposedly had super hearing, Sydney just been told Xander himself was a living legend, she wondered if he'd somehow overheard her father talking about spying on them, if he had… _powers_ he hadn't told them about.

He handed her father a spiral notebook, with several pages covered in handwritten notes, inelegant but legible.

"I think that's pretty much all she knows," Xander said. "She's cooperating. Why don't you read through that, ask any follow-up questions, do some verification. We'll go from there."

While her father read, Sydney braced herself and turned to face Allison, saw the vampire straighten in her chair, the hostility rise in her face as she glared back at her,… Xander held out his hand, waggled a finger her at Allison, said lightly,

"Be good."

And Sydney saw the vampire still a moment, resentment clear on her face, her eyes flashing yellow as she contemplated defiance. And then she'd sagged back, deflated, like a belligerent child chickening out of a confrontation.

Her father was right, Sydney thought, there's a lot we don't know yet.

Xander seemed so intrinsically kind. Comforting. It was hard to imagine him having some kind of dark plan. But she had been wrong before, for years she had thought of Arvin Sloane as an avuncular advisor, friend, even a bit of a father figure. And Sloane was practically the embodiment of evil. Sydney faded back a little, found herself a chair and sat watching Xander watch her father as he began to question Allison.

After about a half hour Xander stood, said, "I'll be out by the pool if you need me."

Her father followed him out, Sydney could see her father leaning close, speaking quietly, only to have Xander answer in a slightly raised voice,

"First, vamp hearing, she can hear you just fine out here. Second, vamps feel pain. Don't cut off her head, don't put any wood in her heart, don't set her on fire, and you can pretty much do whatever you usually do. And more, 'cause stuff that would kill a human you can do to a vamp over and over again. I don't think she's lying. But you do what you think you have to do, Jack. After all, you know her better than I do, don't you?" And Xander had walked away, and after a moment her father came back into the garage and stood staring at Allison a moment.

"Would you like something to drink, Ms. Doren?" he asked. "Water, beer, soda? No blood, I'm afraid."

"A beer would be nice, thank you," Allison said, smiling, "Are you going to poke holes in me and see if it pours out?"

"It wasn't what I had in mind, but we could try it you want," her father said dryly, turned to her, "Sydney, would you mind getting a couple beers?"

"Sure." In the kitchen she got herself another coke and a couple bottles of _Bucanero Fuerte_ and wondered what her father was hiding from her now.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You're buying, right?" Faith said, flipping through the leather bound menu, "Cause one thing I do know, if they don't put the prices on the menu I can't fucking afford it."

"Of course," Irina assured her, "It's the least I can do."

"Yeah, well, just so we're clear. And so you know, killing vamps is what I do, so if you wanna buy lunch that's cool, but you don't owe me, yeah?"

"It's my pleasure, Faith," Irina said with a smile.

"Doesn't buy you nothing but a 'Thanks for lunch,' either."

"I assure you, Faith, if I ever try to …buy you, the offer will be a lot better than a free lunch. Okay?"

"Okay. I just like to be clear. So, did you go to that sex school?" Faith asked.

"I'm sorry?" Irina asked.

"You were KGB right? The whole spy versus spy thing, right? Did you ever see those cartoons? You guys get a cackle out of that shit? Got spy vee spy cartoons up on the cubicles like business dweebs and their Dilberts?"

"To be honest Faith, I've never paid much attention to cartoons."

"Guess that's why you can afford to buy lunch, huh? So the thing is I saw this movie once on TV, had like the Terminator's girlfriend in it, from before she was buffed out. All about this school in Russia training girls how to be sex spies."

Faith reached into the basket that had been placed on the table, began tearing up a piece of bread. "I remember wondering if sex would make school cool, or school would make sex dull. The movie made it seem pretty dull, but, I figured fuck, it's tv, they probably couldn't show the good stuff. So, did you?"

"No, I'm afraid my training centered around practicing American English and of course, we did spend a lot time learning how to go the supermarket and pay the utility bills and things like that."

"That sucks. No secret weapons and codes and stuff?"

"Oh, yes, we all did basic firearm and edged weapons training, plus drugs and poisons."

"Yeah?"

"And of course some cryptography…."

"Yeah, what was that for, like how to bury your victims and stuff?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Cryptography. That's like studying graves and everything, not just crypts, right?

"Oh. No, cryptography is codes."

"Oh… Yeah. Well, I never was much for, you know, school school, words and stuff."

"Well, when it comes to cryptography, trust me, you didn't miss much, very boring. But to answer your question, they left us pretty much on our own with the sex."

"They just picked hot chicks, huh? 'Cause I can see you still got it going on for a woman your age, so I figure you musta been smokin' when you were young."

"Yes, well. Thank you. I was… not bad if I say so myself. But we had advantages. We did get fairly detailed briefings on our target. The CIA did psychological testing on its agents and since we had a mole with access to those reports it was easy to … play on the targets' latent desires."

"Did you get to pick who you went after?"

"No, we were assigned."

"So you just got lucky, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"With Jack. You fell in love with the guy, yeah? That was lucky, right, that you got assigned a guy you could fall for, 'cause I figure, you coulda got stuck bad, yeah?"

"Yes. I suppose. Though in some ways it would have been easier if I had despised him, or even just been indifferent."

"Yeah, I can see that. But you guys are the real deal, though, ain't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I figure if it was me in Jack's position I would have fucking killed you by now. Instead, you two keep giving each other the eye and you were damn near keeping up with me and Xan last night." Faith grinned at Irina's slightly widened eyes, "Slayer senses. You gotta be a lot quieter than that if you wanna get busy on the downlow with me around. Don't freak, it ain't like I sit and listen to every grunt, I just kinda know what's happenin', yeah?"

"What would you like to eat, Faith?" Irina said.

"I could go for a steak, actually, if they got beef. Dayami's a good cook an all but I was getting tired of the pork. Damn. Now I sound like B."

Irina waved for the unctuous waiter, ordered, _"Deux salade fleur-de-lis, deux bifteck au poivre avec pommes frites._ And to drink, Faith?"

"Coke's fine."

"Perrier for me, a coca-cola for my friend."

""That's too bad about that sex school, I was hopin' you'd been. I was curious. Cause there was a time I thought I knew it all, right? And I learned better but still, I figure I at least got the skills down, but then I got with Xander, and well, he knew a couple things I never would have even thought of. Of course, he learned them from his ex and she was like eleven hundred years old, you got to figure, it's gonna be a little hard for me to come up with something to, you know, surprise him…

"Eleven hundred years old?"

"What? Yeah. Demon. Or ex-demon, I guess, though I heard she was back to being a demon for awhile there. But … hell, that's really not something I should…. You wanna know any more about Anya you should ask Xan. Just, well, don't, okay? He gets sad."

"Of course," Irina leaned back in her chair, smiled, said, "Well, Faith, I may not be quite _that_ old and despite what some people say about me I'm not actually demonic. But I may have learned a trick or two over the years."

"Yeah? Cool. Bring it on."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Faith found Xander sitting on the beach, idly tossing pebbles at the waves.

"Hey," she said, dropping down beside him, leaning in for a quick kiss.

"Hey," he said back, "so how was shopping with Mata Hari?"

"Once she dropped the Mom act it was cool, cause, you know, been there done that. It was a good time, broad's got some stories to tell. I don't know yet where she stacks up on the good and evil thing, but the woman's got brass balls, you gotta give her that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Faith said, waving back at the villa, "this place ain't some retirement present from the KGB, they actually kinda fucked her over pretty good, to hear her tell it."

Faith rambled on for awhile, retelling a few of Irina's war stories before she noticed Xander wasn't really listening…

"What's the matter, babe?"

"What? Oh, sorry, I was just…. I hate feeling sorry for vampires. It's just wrong."

"Allison lay a sob story on you?"

"Yeah. And I know, could be all bullshit. But it pretty much matches up with some of the stuff Giles told me. Plus I talked to Dawnie," he said, waggling the blue cell phone, "and she kinda went off. We never should have let her go to college and learn history and economics and stuff. I'm not sure the world's ready for a politically active Summers' girl. Anyway, she pretty much backed up what Allison told me…

"Apparently the CIA had a program to identify kids who had natural spy-like abilities through standardized tests. We're talking like six year-olds here. And the ones they picked out, they told their parents they'd won like this free summer camp thing for gifted kids. So every summer as they were growing up they spent a month in some sort of intense training and mental conditioning, including some sort of brainwash thing to make them forget exactly what it was they been trained for. But they still had the skills. Allison was one of those kids."

"Well, sounds a little slimy," Faith said, "but I ain't sobbing yet."

"Thing is, when she got vamped, she got all those 'summer camp' memories back. One guess who the head of that program was."

"No shit? Jack? This is that thing you told me about, right. You mean Sydney…"

"Yeah. He put her through the same training. At least when my parents … crapped on me it was just cause, well, they really couldn't cope with life that well. It wasn't, you know, calculated. The thing was, since it was Jack's program, Irina had access. And she passed the whole thing on to the KGB. Including the names of the kids, their psych profiles. Of course, by the time the kids were of age the Soviet Union was kaput, and the CIA was too busy playing with all their new spy satellite technology to give a shit about some cold war sleeper program.

"Which meant these enhanced kids were just hanging out there like fruit on tree, all ripe and ready to be picked. The KGB essentially went private, which meant the files on these kids became marketable assets. They were essentially sold on the black market, and recruited by people who knew more about them than they did themselves. Sydney ended up working for SD-6, who were sort of … I don't know exactly, arms dealers, industrial espionage, sort of Toys'R'Us for terrorists and big time criminals. Allison… well, Allison never really knew who the hell she was working for. But she was conditioned to follow orders, and she did. Even to the point of allowing them to completely remake her body. Even to the point of killing the man she fell in love with. … Crap, I don't know," Xander flopped back on the sand put his arms over his eye to block the bright sun.

"She _was _a stone cold killer. Before she got vamped. lt's just, when Jack took me aside and asked for tips on how to interrogate a vampire… dude just creeped me the hell out. And Irina, I don't know how involved she was in auctioning off those files, but I bet she was in the middle of it. I oughta be used to this kids-as-cannon-fodder shit by now, _slayers,_ after all. The kids with AK's I saw in Africa. But Jack and Irina, they did this to their own kid. That's just….. shit. If we didn't need them to get at the Initiative I'd have half a mind to just unchain Allison and let her have at the pair of them."

"Ah, babe, I'm sorry," Faith said, laying down herself, resting her face on his chest. "but you gotta remember, normal people have fucked up lives too. Syd ain't so bad off. Lot's of women got guy troubles and divorced parents and they don't get to run around the world playin' with guns and hanging out in Mom's fucking tropical mansion. Jack maybe fucked up in the past, but take my word for it, lotta women out there would give their left tit to have a dad like that. And slayers, yeah, there's some, like B, who kinda got screwed over by the slayer thing. But there's a lot like me, too. Yeah, there's been some shit, but if I wasn't a slayer it ain't like I'd be living the good life. Sure as hell wouldn't be hanging out on Caribbean beaches. And every damn vamp has a sad story, cause they all end by getting vamped, yeah?"

"Yeah. I guess. Still, next time…"

"Yeah?"

"Next time I get to go out with the hot MILF and you get to listen to the mad vampire's life story, okay?"

"Nuhuh. I let you gape at naked Sydney all last night. You still owe me."

"I did not gape."

"Bullshit."

"I may have observed. Appreciated. All right, stared. Ogled, even. I did not gape."

"Like a goldfish."

They lay together for awhile, listening to the surf.

"So," Faith said, "aside from depressed, did you get anything useful out of Allison?"

"What. Oh yeah, didn't I say?"

"Not so much, no."

"Ah. Yeah, she told me where the Initiative is."

"I see. So we'll be leaving…?"

"As soon as Irina and Jack put together some transportation."

"We're not going to use Willow's doohickey, we got at least four jumps left don't we?"

"Yeah, but I figured we'd save that for when it's urgent. And that we'd keep that our little secret, okay?"

"Yeah, makes sense."

"Besides, this way, maybe you'll get to jump out of an airplane like you wanted."

"Cool."

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 12: Living the Reality**


	13. Chapter 12: Living the Reality

Chapter 12: Living the Reality

**A/N**: see Prologue for disclaimer/warnings/Alias notes

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God." _**Bokonon, **Cat's Cradle **Kurt Vonnegut**

**CORDELIA: **_Great. Now I'm gonna be stuck with serious thoughts all day._

**Chapter 12: Living the Reality**

**LOS ANGELES**

They were gathered in the conference room, Lindsey presiding, indulging himself to a slightly smug smile as he nodded at Lauren who in turn nodded at Carrie, who tapped at the keyboard and activated the speaker,

"Hey, Sir Rupert the Giles, we are going mobile in the morning, milord, air cav to the Amazon. They can hide but they can't run, and now they can't even hide."

"Xander, in English please?"

"Or should it be Sir Giles the Rupert? Whatever. We got a tip on the location and we're going in. But the Bristows are all paranoid about traveling in a group so we're splitting up, we're each taking commercial flights.. Mexico City, Cancun, Rio, Georgetown and so on. Sydney's got some wicked make-up skills man, you wouldn't fucking recognize me, glass eye and everything. She aged Irina, makes her look like she's a hundred and fifty. She's working on Jack now."

"You think all that's really necessary, Xander?"

"I have no idea. But they're the experts on the cloak and dagger stuff. Plus they're paying, so I'm going with the flow. We'll meet up in Caracas, Derevko's got some connections there. We're hooking up with a plane, and fly over the hills and up the river and parachute in, which I gotta tell you I am so not looking forward to but Faith is hyped. I keep telling her we're gonna land in sixteen umpty gajillion gallons of mud, but she's still psyched."

"Xander, are you sure about this?"

"No, not really, but it seems like we at least ought to get in there and do a recon. We're gonna go for two different landing spots and meet. Derevko claims she can arrange for a boat to meet us for the trip out. I'm gonna text you the coordinates. Jack Irina and Faith are going for LZ one, Sydney and I are going to LZ two."

"I trust you have adequate supplies?"

"We're supposed to get kitted out in Caracas. I'll be in touch if that falls through, but otherwise, see you on other side."

"Okay, I'll defer to your judgement, but, Xander, don't hesitate to pull out if you sense a double-cross. Irina Derevko is a dangerous woman. And Jack and Sydney Bristow are CIA so, who knows?"

"Don't worry, Giles, if I can think of a reason to go to Disneyworld instead, I'm all over it. Say hi to the guys. And take care yourself, okay?"

"Good luck Xander. Be well."

"I trust you intercepted the text message as well," Lindsey said.

"Of course," Lauren answered. "The coordinates are on the _Río Negro_ about a hundred and fifty miles north of _Manaus_. Mr. Harris is not exaggerating about the mud."

"Do we have any idea what they're looking for there?"

"No sir."

"Well, let's get a couple teams in there to do a little recon of our own, and to be waiting if they get past us, but I'd much rather catch them in transit. What's the situation in Caracas?"

"We have assets, but the local authorities are going to be less than cooperative, as Jack Bristow well knows. We have good biometrics on Derevko and the Bristows of course, Harris, we have a passport photo and an Ohio DMV photo. He is missing his left eye so that should narrow the possibilities. At this time we have no information on a "Faith." So, we put watches on the airports, monitor every flight out of Cuba, make arrests where the locals are cooperative, go for a covert snatch if they're not. The Caracas station has been alerted and will be monitoring the international and internal airports, as well as camping outfitters. They will prepare additional holding facilities just in case."

"Any comments at this time gentlemen? No. Very good, Ms. Reed. Carry on."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Marshall hurried back to his office and with all deliberate speed encoded a warning for Sydney and Jack into a picture of a piranha and posted it to the aquarium hobbyists site and sat back, hoping Jack would find a way to check the site before leaving. Glancing around he caught Vaughn watching him and he shrugged, glad that the fact that he had received no further communications from Jack saved him from having to decide what to tell Vaughn.

He was worried a little that Jack and Sydney hadn't contacted him. Probably it was just that they hadn't found a secure connection in Cuba, especially if they were dependent on Irina Derevko for optech support. He thought about all the times over the years that his own last minute electronic wizardry had saved Sydney, now she was out in the bad world without her guardian angel. He worried.

Damn. That ass wiggling avatar was back, a small black window appeared on his screen, with the words,

_What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?_ which faded and then,

_Take me for a ride? Pretty pretty please? _

Followed by the name of a Panamanian bank, _Banco Puente,_ and two companies, _Abraxas Inc._ and _Zarathustra Ltd._ which Marshall quickly copied down. Then,

_Be vewy vewy careful. Here be dwagons. _

Then the message faded, the black box disappeared and the avatar wiggled once more and was gone from his screen. But Marshall could feel that they were still there, whoever they were, watching.

He tried to find them. And tried. And failed. But he knew.

After awhile he gave up trying to find his mysterious watchers and he went back to his search of the DSR. He had been tracing the money, thank god for the bean counters, every big organization's Achilles heel when it came to security. He was looking for large expenditures that were unaccounted for… so far he had found nothing that wasn't either legitimate…. Or at least not _Initiative_ related, some of the projects stretched the concept of legitimate but Marshall was always much more concerned with how than why. _Why _was not his department.

He searched for a connection between the DSR and the Panamanian bank. _Bingo._ Sure, the money went first to a bank in the Cayman's but Marshall was able to follow that trail easily enough.

He searched for the companies. No connection to the DSR but both had accounts at the Panamanian bank, opened at about the same time the first DSR communication with the bank was recorded. Next step, crack the bank and get the transaction records for the DSR and the two companies and see where that leads. Marshall reached over to grab a handful of gummy bears out of the goldfish bowl where he kept his supply and chewing away at the gooey globs of sugar he set to work.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Well, Michael, just what is it you want me to do? Resign? Refuse to do my job? Drag my feet? You think Lindsey wouldn't see through that in a second?" Lauren said.

"No, I… God, I hate this," Vaughn said as he paced Lauren's office

"I didn't want this either."

"Didn't you?"

"_No!_ I'm not saying I would have been unhappy if Sydney had been transferred to the Beijing station. But I didn't want this. And I didn't want to be the one to lead the chase, but as long as I am you know she won't be hurt. Or taken off to Guantanamo, or Russia or anywhere else. I don't believe Lindsey would have actually forced her to have surgery but you _know_ I won't. She'll be afforded all her rights under the law. Be fair, Michael, none of this, absolutely none of this is my fault."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," he came around behind her desk, rested his hands on her shoulders, kissed the top of her head. "I just feel like I let her down, somehow. Remember, this is not just about my… personal feelings. I was Sydney's handler for two years. I feel like I have an agent out in the cold and I'm doing nothing to bring her in."

"But we're doing everything we can, Michael. We'll bring her back and then sort things out. You know she's better off here in CIA custody than out there, dependent on Irina Derevko for protection."

"Yes," Vaughn agreed, "we should have executed _her_ when we had the chance."

"Michael," Lauren said quietly. "Just between you and me, and I swear, if you have any information I won't act on it without your permission…. Do have any idea what they're looking for in Brazil?"

"No. No idea at all."

She leaned her head over, laid her cheek on Vaughn's hand for moment. "It'll be all right, Michael, just have faith."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**HAVANA**

"Faith," Sydney said, looking up from her packing to see the slayer standing in her bedroom doorway, "what's up?"

"It's getting 'bout that time. Xander wanted to know if you wanted to dust Allison yourself. And if you didn't, to tell you Allison asked that she be allowed to speak to you. Either way, up to you."

"Oh. Okay." she said, and, avoiding the question for a moment she asked, "Is Xander mad about something, he seemed… kind of cold earlier."

"Yeah, he's a little mad at the world at the moment."

"Is it about Allison? It's just that I'm confused, last night you both were all, vampires evil, kill kill, and now he's upset about dusting Allison … I don't understand."

"It ain't dusting her that's upset him. It's what happened to her before. I know you and her … got issues, but I guess she had kind of a fucked up life. Listen, Syd, it's like this, you spend as much time as Xan and I do hanging out in graveyards you end up reading a lot of waddyacall'em, epitaphs. 'Beloved father' and so on. Pretty boring. Except every once in a while one kinda hits you, a couple lines, maybe a picture. Couldn't even tell you why, sometimes. Maybe it's a kid, maybe it's the way grave is off by itself. I dunno. Just all of a sudden you're sad. Well, a vamp is kind of a walking epitaph… Would you believe I actually saw one once that said 'I told you I was sick.' A gravestone, not a vamp."

"You're kidding."

"No shit, it was real and everything. Bout laughed my ass off." She paused, flopped down on the end of the bed. "Vamps kill people, Syd. It's what they do. There's a lot of them. There's a lot of other things out there, monsters. Real monsters, with the teeth and the claws. After awhile you learn it's kinda pointless to get mad at monsters for being monsters. But it still kinda pisses Xan off sometimes when people start acting like monsters themselves, cause he figures there's enough of the real thing around. It's a mood. It'll pass. As for Allison, if it'll make you feel better to dust her yourself, go for it. And if it bugs you, no sweat, it's what I do."

Her father was arguing with Xander but they went silent as Syd followed Faith into the garage.

"Sydney, you don't have to do this," her father said.

"Yes, I do." She turned to the vampire, who was still seated on the metal chair, wrapped in chains.

"I'm listening," Sydney said, bracing herself for another angry blast of abuse, but the vampire spoke softly,

"Is Will really alive?" Allison asked.

"Yes. No thanks to you."

"Will you give him a message?"

"No. He's in Witness Protection, he's out of this life. He thinks I'm dead. No."

"Okay. I'll tell you then. If you ever change your mind… just tell him it wasn't all fake, okay? Just tell him I'm sorry. I had orders and I just couldn't…. I'm sorry." She turned, looked over at Jack. "Oh yeah, and you … see you in hell. Xander, please…. Now."

"Syd?" Xander said.

She shook her head. Three times, she thought, I've shot her three times. That's enough. Xander hefted his axe and swung, there was a _whoosh_ and just like that, Allison was gone.

"Okay," Xander said, "Jack, you got any more questions?" his tone clearly implying his sincere desire that the answer be no.

"That seems rather moot at this point," her father answered stiffly. "Since our sole source has, so to speak, dried up."

"Allrighty then. Faith and I are going to go hit a couple clubs, don't wait up, we'll see you in the morning."

Syd lingered as her father turned to leave, tugged at Faith's arm, asked "What's that all about?" with her raised eyebrows, Faith grinned.

"Oh, just alpha male bullshit," she said, "They'll get over it. You have nice night with your folks, yeah?"

They found her mother on the phone in her office, giving someone orders, her voice, hard, clipped, with just a touch of threat lingering in the vowels. Sydney and Jack sat and waited. When she was done she flashed a smile and shook her head.

"If you want it done right…..Ah, well, we should be set to travel tomorrow. So," she smiled brightly, "where are our fearless vampire killers?"

"They went dancing," Sydney said. "I think they wanted to give us a night alone before…."

"How tactful of them," Irina said, laughing. "Jack, I couldn't get into the bank records at all, you want to have a go? Come join us when you get bored." She came lightly to her feet, stepped around the desk and grabbed Sydney's arm, "You," she said, "come with me."

They were in the steamy, spice scented kitchen, wearing matching aprons that her mother had bought for the occasion. Sydney was chopping onions at the island while her mother stirred soup on the stove top,

"Don't get the wrong idea, Sydney," her mother had said with a smile, "this is probably the tenth meal I've cooked myself in as many years, including last night. But… cooking with my daughter… is just one of those fantasies a mother has, even bad ones."

"Mom…"

"Sydney, lets not … rewrite history. Let's just make the most of what we do have. I truly hope when this is over we will have all the time in the world to ... do mundane things together, but this life has taught me to seize the moment when you can. Be sure to slice the limes just as paper thin as you can get them…."

They had white wine with the _ukha,_ they had red with the _stroganoff,_ black coffee with the _flan_ and the mango cake that her mother had bought earlier because 'fun is fun but lets not get ridiculous.' Sydney and her mom had rum, Jack had a scotch and they each lit up _Romeo y Julieta_ Churchills although only her father smoked more than the first inch or so.

They laughed. They told Sydney stories about herself in toddlerhood, they told young couple household disaster stories, they talked about the changes happening in Cuba, they talked about food. They did not talk about vampires at all. Not even once.

Sydney kissed her mother and father good night and went to bed in a happy, slightly alchoholic haze, sternly fighting off fears that this was a one time thing, never to happen again, telling herself, if this could happen even once then anything, _anything_ was possible.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dayami was sitting in the doorway, just behind the threshold, eyes closed, letting Javier's music wash over her, remembering better times… when suddenly the new sound she was hearing penetrated her consciousness, filled her with panic, she leapt to her feet, hissing,

"Javier, you have to go, Javier, give me the guitar and go, now. That's Faith's motorcycle. The _slayer!_" She reached out, took the instrument, only later did it occur to her that Javier could have taken her then, grabbed her arm and pulled. But he didn't… and that meant… Nothing.

He could simply have been in too much of hurry to get away. Because he had certainly left quickly, climbing the back wall of the house and disappearing over the roof even as the motorcycle came to a puttering halt at the back gate.

That was another moment that stuck with her, Javier sitting in the backyard strumming his guitar in the moonlight still seemed human, Javier going straight up the wall like spiderman, not so much. And that meant… she didn't know.

The gate opened and Faith wheeled the motorcycle in, picked it up and set it parallel to the house wall.

"Hey, Dayami," Xander said, catching sight of her in the doorway, "sorry, did we wake you?"

"No, no, I was up. Are you back for the rest of the week?"

"No, just for tonight, but we'd like to leave the motorcycle here for awhile if that would be okay. We'll pay for storage."

"No, no, you've already been very generous. But I couldn't… guarantee its safety. Such a fine motorcycle might be too great a temptation for thieves."

"Oh, no," Xander said with a smile, "trust me, that won't be a problem."

Faith pulled a canvas cover out of one of the saddlebags, draped it over the bike, stood back and pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket and read aloud…. And the canvas covered motorcycle shimmered, faded, and disappeared.

"Oh," Dayami said. "I see. I mean…. Okay."

"Hey Day," Faith said, coming over, "Sorry to bust in on you like this, but shit's happenin'. Look we're just gonna catch a few zzz's and we'll be outta here way early, so don't worry about breakfast or anything, okay. Just pretend like we're ghosts."

"How long…"

"No idea. Shouldn't be more than couple weeks though… But you know, shit happens. Look, I know we paid for the rest of the week, but starting tomorrow you can go ahead and start renting the room…. No, no, keep the money, get something nice for the kids, yeah? C'mon Xan, I got a little surprise for you."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. A little something Irina told me about. She is so full of shit about not going to that school, 'cause I know it took fucking years of fucking research to come up with this one."

Dayami watched the pair bound upstairs, she closed the door and trailed slowly back to her own room, smiling as the familiar sounds started up in the bedroom.

Now what? she thought. They're liable to show up any moment, just popping out of thin air in the backyard like they did the first time, just maybe without warning, now that they're known here. God, Javvy, she thought, why is nothing ever simple?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

And then Marshall broke the bank and he was in and suddenly the problem was too much information. There were payroll records, payments to wholesale grocers, utilities, fuel and so on, the basic infrastructure seemed to run through _Abraxas. Zarathustra Ltd._ dealt more with high end items, technical equipment, pharmaceuticals, nearly all the imported materials, there were payments made to companies all over Europe, Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, the States, some smaller shipments from Africa, a few from Haiti.

Holy shit. One name caught Marshall's eye. No way. Not possible. Of course it was possible. Heck. It was inevitable, really, he thought.

_Omnifam. _

And not as a supplier, either. Omnifam was putting money in. Omnifam was a partner.

Okay, Marshall knew who was doing it. The DSR and Omnifam. Now, what the hell were they doing?

Salaries for Ph.D.'s. with specialties ranging from Biomechanics to Zoology and back to Ancient Folklore.

Medical supplies. Small arms. A lot of steel. Exotic plants. Computers.

And none of it going to Brazil. Why was Sydney going to Brazil, was she after something completely different or was she just on the wrong track?

"Marshall."

He started, turned around, Carrie was there, tapping on her watch.

"But honey, I've cracked it, I'm in, I just need to analyze the data…"

"Marshal, is Sydney trapped in a burning building? In a safe with the air running out? Is she doing something completely illegal while the local police close in?"

"No, but…"

"Then it can wait 'til tomorrow."

"But… I have all the data…"

"So make a copy and bring it with you."

"Really?"

Tell you what, take me out to dinner and you can work on it later at home. For an hour. Maybe two."

Marshall popped a blank disk in the burner and began assembling the raw data into more manageable files. Finished, he burned a second copy and slipped it into his secret slot in the back of his office tool box, slipped the first behind the hidden panel in his briefcase, took Carrie's arm and headed out of the office, not noticing the brunette avatar appear on his screen again, along with the black window.

Marshall! Please! Don't go home. DO NOT GO HOME!

Please! Listen! THEY WILL KILL YOU! DO NOT GO HOME!

You've been traced. I'm sorry, I should have known they would. Cheat.

I should never have given you those names.

Please Marshall, you have to trust me. STAY IN YOUR OFFICE!

Marshall? If you see this, please type "m"

Marshall?

Marshall?

Marshall! CHECK YOUR DAMN VOICE MAIL!

Marshall? Anyone? Spy people? Please please don't let Marshall go home!

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ROME**

Colby Maguire was living the dream. The fantasy of every young American guy making his first trip to Europe.

Okay, it wasn't quite _the _dream. He'd been thinking more of a slightly wicked dusky beauty, a native, an Asia Argento type. But the blonde was beautiful enough, an expat American who seemed happy to have someone to speak colloquial English with. She was a couple years older, dressing sharp enough to cut, fitting right in with the local women that way.

They'd done the meet cute thing, when she ran over him on her pink Vespa. On the sidewalk. There had been a long explanation as to why she had been riding on the sidewalk that Colby had soon given up trying to follow, especially as she was still speaking some sort of hybrid Englitalian because he hadn't got enough words in for her to notice he was an American yet.

An American with a long rip in his pants where the scooter had torn them. She'd insisted on replacing them. That had taken three stops before she found just the right pair. And then he offered to buy her lunch and she'd taken him to a little _trattoria_ she knew and, well, they'd gotten along. She'd seemed to enjoy giving him the insider's tour of Rome and he was certainly enjoying her company.

And then there was dinner at a restaurant where the maitre'd greeted her by name, which was the first time Colby had believed that _Buffy_ was actually her real name.

After dinner, drinks at an outdoor table in a piazza for people watching and commenting upon, plus a bit of gossip about States stuff, TV, movies, clothes… thanks to three older sisters he was able to keep his end of the conversation up there, much to her obvious, but pleased, surprise. Then to a club for a bit of dancing and a nightcap.

And now, her place, and a goodnight kiss with a question in it, and he could see her mulling it over, assessing him, and, thank the Lord God Almighty, finally smiling shyly and reaching out to take his hand and leading him up the steps and inside the building. They started making out a little in the tiny elevator, she was moving slowly but he could feel a certain unusual… strength, passion, something not definable but definitely powerful. This was going to be one of those nights, Colby thought, when I'm a dying old fart sitting in the corner, thinking about how I wasted my life, this is going to be one of those memories I call up to argue the other point of view.

They reached her floor, she opened the door quietly and poked her head in, called out, "Dawnie? You awake? Dawnie?" They went in, kissed a little as they moved down toward the bedroom, inside, she sat him on the bed, said,

"Hold that thought, lover, I'll be right back."

And then he heard,

"Crap. Dawn!" and the sound of a door being swung roughly open. "Dawn! Andrew, are you here?!" And then Buffy came stomping back into the bedroom, holding a pink notepad in one hand. She began digging in one of the closets for moment and apparently found something missing and she stood and stamped her foot, literally stamped her foot, something Colby had never actually seen before.

"Ohhhhh, I am so going to kill her," she whirled and spoke to him directly, "I am going to pluck her ball-headed and strangle her with her own hair. Ohhh. Crap." She'd paused, took a deep breath, calmed herself, looked over at him sadly, crossed to him, kissed him softly, said, "And we were having such a nice time, weren't we? I'm sorry, Toby, I really am."

And so Colby Maguire found himself standing in an empty hallway, holding his new pants in one hand, his shoes in the other, an American guy making his first trip to Europe, living the reality.

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 13: Pretty Girls**


	14. Chapter 13: Pretty Girls

**Chapter 13: Pretty Girls**

**A/N: **See prologue for disclaimer, warnings, _Alias_ notes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_A FOOL there was and he made his prayer  
(Even as you or I!)  
To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair_ – **Rudyard Kipling, **_The Vampire_

**Weiss** (helping Syd move): _You're sure you're okay with this? I mean, are you going to be all right? By yourself?_

**Sydney:** _I just can't wrap my head around it. I mean, Francie's been dead for two years, but I feel like I saw her a few days ago. And now that Will is in the witness protection, I can't even contact him. All my friends are just . . . gone._

**Weiss: **_Not_ all _your friends._

**Chapter 13: Pretty Girls**

**LOS ANGELES**

Eric Weiss slipped out of the van, straightened his tie, adjusted his holster to make sure the pistol under his armpit was hidden by his suit, accepted the handful of religious pamphlets Vaughn handed him.

The mid-morning streets were mostly empty in the residential district, quiet enough he could hear birds. He strolled casually around the corner, paused a moment in front of Marshall's house, pretended to double-check an address in a notebook while he observed the small bungalow for signs of life, hostile or otherwise. Marshall's car was there, parked on the slab in front of the garage. With a twinge of shame Weiss realized he had no idea if that was normal or not.

Plastering on his most ingratiating smile he sauntered up to the door and felt a little cold spot start in his chest as he saw that the door was off its hinges, just propped up against the jam so that the damage wouldn't be obvious from a distance.

"Houston, we have a problem," Weiss said softly, just loud enough for his comms to pick up his voice, and the van came quickly around the corner, Vaughn came up to join him by the door, handing him a rifle while Dixon went running past, leading two other armed agents around behind the small building.

"_Outrigger_ in place," came Dixon's voice over the comms.

"Going on three," Weiss said, "One ... two … three." And he kicked the door open and peered in, looked around for any obvious signs of a booby trap, then went in, the cold spot in his chest growing colder as he saw the damage. It looked like … an angry rhino had been trapped inside. Walls were smashed, furniture crushed, books and electronics ripped apart and spread like autumn leaves on the shredded carpet. But no bodies, no sign of blood, at least there was that.

"What in the hell?" Weiss asked aloud after Vaughn had called the all-clear.

"I guess they were looking for something?" Vaughn answered with a puzzled shrug.

"It's the same in the garage, his workshop's torn apart," Dixon said, the anger flashing in the big man's eyes. He pulled out a cell and spoke briefly, listened, then reported that no one was home at Carrie Bowman's, but her apartment hadn't been broken into. He spoke into the phone again, ordering a discreet watch to be kept.

"Lindsey reinstate you?" Vaughn asked Dixon when he hung up.

"Let him try and stop me," Dixon said grimly, and held out his hand, said, "Good work, Eric," and they shook and Weiss discreetly palmed the folded piece of paper Dixon had left in his hand. When he looked, at the first secure moment, he found a time and address written there, he memorized and destroyed the note.

Ah, Marshall, he thought, what have you got yourself into. What have you got me into.

Ah, Marshall, he thought, the things we do for pretty girls.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Suddenly Marshall's life was full of pretty girls who thought he was cute.

From time to time the slightly bitter thought surfaced briefly, where were you guys when I was seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two…

But mostly his mind was busy with more important things, like Carrie's safety and mental state.

It had started somewhere in the wee hours, he'd woken to the steady knocking on his front door and, taser in hand he'd approached the door with caution and peered through the peephole and seen a pretty girl on his doorstep, a slim brunette who looked somehow familiar. She seemed to sense his presence, she smiled, a wide, bright grin, wiggled her hips and waved.

_No way,_ he thought.

She did it again. Curiosity overcame caution and he opened the door, started to ask,

"Who are…"

Suddenly two more girls appeared out of the night, quickly disarmed him and effortlessly took him by the arms and carried him inside, the brunette following, pulling the door shut. The girls put him down but kept a light hold his arms that somehow he was completely unable to escape. The brunette waited until he stopped struggling.

"Marshall," she said, "we're not here to hurt you. I'm terribly sorry, but you're in great danger, we need to get you to a safe place."

"Who…" Marshall tried again.

"Oh, right," the brunette laughed, held out her hand, "I'm Dawn, this is Taariq," she said indicating a slim, black girl with delicate features and a pile of dreadlocks, "and this is Tracy," nodding at a tanned and rather well-muscled girl whose long straight hair was either black with blonde streaks or blonde with black, "and they are commonly known as _'Titties,'_"

"Hey," Taariq complained and Dawn continued,

"But they'll be your slaves for life if you call them _'TNT'_ instead. And we all think you're cute, for a geek. Now, you need to get dressed and pack a bag, quickly.

"But…"

"You tripped some alarms at _Banco Puente,_" Dawn explained. "I'm sorry, it was careless of me to give you those names without…. Look, that's a long story, please, Marshall, you have to trust me. We'll take you by force if we have to, but we really are here to help you."

"Okay," Marshal tried, "just let me make a call…."

"Maybe later,' Dawn answered.

"Hey," Taariq, who had slipped away without Marshall noticing, called from the bedroom, "there's a pregnant woman in here."

"Marshall!" Dawn said, waggling her finger at him, "you've been keeping secrets from me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Let me get this straight," Carrie said after she was fully awake and staring at Marshall, "we're being kidnapped by three girls?"

"Yes," Marshall said, nodding unhappily.

"Three unarmed girls?"

"Look," Tracy said, "will this make it better?" and suddenly she had a long dagger in one hand that she did few showy twirls with it, then held it to Marshall's neck. "Happy now?"

"Don't…." Carrie said urgently and the knife disappeared.

"Now, let's pack."

Marshall and Carrie were bundled into the back of a slightly battered Jeep Wrangler and blind-folded, each eventually raising a hand to cling to the roll bar to stop themselves from being flung about as the jeep careened around the corners.

"Are they close?" Marshall shouted.

"Is who close?" Tracy shouted back.

"The people chasing us?"

There was laughter, "We're not being chased," Tracy answered, "It's just that there's a Summers at the wheel."

And then it clicked, Dawn Summers. Buffy's sister. At least that explained why the girls were so strong. He thought about the commando team sent to Rome.

Oh, shit, thought Marshall, and he held tight to Carrie's hand.

They were carried inside a building with the slightly musty odor of old wood, and up two flights of creaking stairs, the blindfolds were removed. They were in a rather elegant, high-ceilinged apartment, shown into a spacious bedroom decorated by someone who had a serious Zebra fetish, with zebra posters on the zebra papered walls, zebra sheets on a bed inhabited by several stuffed zebras.

"Sorry about this," Taariq said. "But Tracy lost the coin toss so you get her room. It's not meant to be a torture chamber…"

"Hey, " Tracy said, "It'll grow on you."

"…If you start feeling a little mad just come out in the livingroom for awhile, it'll pass. Bathroom's right just down the hall there, feel free to raid the fridge. See you in the morning."

And then they were alone. Marshall tried the windows, but they were solidly locked, beside there was no way Carrie was going out that way and he wasn't leaving her so…

They stood a moment looking at each other, then Carrie sat down on the zebra sheets and began to laugh. And then, _whatthehell,_ they went to bed.

Sometime later a frantic Carrie shook Marshall awake, her hands shaking, her face pale,

"What?! What is it?" Marshall asked, reaching out to hold her, feeling her tremble.

"I…. I went to the bathroom," she said when her breathing steadied. "On my way back I tripped, I fell. And something caught me, Marshall, I was hurrying, I caught my foot and I was going down… and then suddenly I was lifted back on my feet and guided to the door and I flipped on the light and turned to thank whoever it was that caught me and _there was no one there_, Marshall. I could see the whole room, Marshall. There was no one there."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ON THE CARIBBEAN, SSE OF SANTIAGO DE CUBA **

Standing on the bridge looking north he could just see a hint of land on the horizon. Jack checked his watch and smiled. He could see no details of course but he knew was looking in the general vicinity of Guantanamo. If only Lindsey knew how close they were to the prison cell he no doubt had waiting.

He turned and looked behind him at Harris who was leaning on the rail, looking down at Faith and Sydney as they threw each other about on a couple of mats spread out on the main deck of the yacht Irina had procured. Jack moved around to Harris' right side and stood watching, jealous of the sheer energy the two young women displayed. Harris who, in the doubled glare of sunlight coming off the water had replaced his eye-patch with dark pair of wraparound sunglasses, ignored him. Jack sighed. He had long ago, Sydney excepted of course, got over the need to make other people see his point of view. So long as he achieved his goals, he didn't care if he was loved or hated for it.

He rather liked Harris, in another ten years he would probably grow into someone worth having a discussion with. But now, Jack needed his unique experience and expertise. If they were going to work together he needed to make peace, for Sydney's sake.

The younger man had slept for most of the drive from Havana and seemed rested, in a better mood. He had seemed to enjoy the messing-about-in-boats process of boarding the yacht and putting to sea. It seemed as good a time as any.

"Perhaps you and I should clear the air a little," Jack said.

"Oh?" Harris answered, "What about?"

"What Allison told you about. Project Christmas."

"You gonna tell me it ain't true? Cause I got other sources, I'm not just taking her word for it."

"No. It's true."

"Then there isn't much to say."

"I admit, in many ways the project did not work out as I had intended. But I do not apologize for my intentions. I wanted to make them stronger, not just for the Agency, but for their own sakes. It was a given that there would be a certain number of agents. The stronger, the smarter, the more skilled they were, the more likely they would be to survive. To flourish. I should think that someone in your rather unique profession would appreciate that."

"I don't choose them," Harris snapped. "It may look like I send them out to fight, but the truth is, I can't stop them. I would if I could. So I do my best to help. But I didn't choose them. If I could go back in time and kick the asses of those old bastards who made the first slayer, I would. But hell, at least they waited 'til puberty. But you, you were fucking cruising the kindergartens. You did it to your own daughter. Appreciate that? Not so much."

"It is a hard truth, Mr. Harris, that the developmental years are exactly that. Alzheimer's aside, we are never too old to learn, but we will never learn so quickly, so completely as we do as children. Early training is a tremendous advantage in any profession. What I did to Sydney, Mr. Harris, was make her as strong and capable as I knew how. I have made… many mistakes, I have many regrets, but helping my daughter achieve her potential is not one of them. If I could, I would provide similar training for every child, what is done to children in our schools, the waste … doesn't bear thinking about. As to cruising the kindergartens, it is also true that evolution is not an egalitarian process. We are not all created equal. Since giving every child a worthy education was beyond the scope of my capabilities, I made selections. I did not have the option of waiting until they were of age and endowing them with … superhuman powers."

"Would you?"

"What?"

Harris nodded toward the lower deck where a panting Sydney sat panting, leaning against the transom, toweling herself off while Irina stepped forward to take a turn on the mat with tireless Faith.

"If you could snap your fingers and give Sydney Faith's powers, would you?"

"Of course, Mr. Harris, without a second thought."

"Even knowing it meant she would spend the rest of her life fighting demons? I mean, look at us, we try to take two weeks at the beach and here we are. It may have looked easy so far, but intimidating a bar is one thing, taking out the Initiative, not so much. And when that's over, something else will happen. It's a war without end."

"Sydney's life is already like that, Mr. Harris. Demons, sadly, have no monopoly on evil. Besides, didn't your friend Buffy find a way to retire?"

"After she died twice. Don't go there, Jack. Really."

This wasn't working. Stupid of me, really, Jack thought. Logic not the right approach, if Harris worked off logic he wouldn't do what he does, would he?

"Would you take it away, then? If you could?" Jack asked.

"What?"

"If you could take Faith's powers from her, would you? If you could take on her powers and her burdens, do you think she would thank you for it?"

Jack paused a moment, said softly, "We are all destiny's children in some ways, Mr. Harris. Some are born in mansions, some born to die in the mud. Some apparently are born to slay vampires. If there are better fates, you and I both know there are worse as well. We are all born to human parents full of human frailties and human errors. If you wish to condemn me for mine, so be it."

"You got a point here, Jack?"

"I have one goal, Mr. Harris. I wish to protect Sydney. You apparently wish to protect every female who ever lived, which, includes Sydney, and therefore, happily, we seem to have found a common ground. I would simply suggest that so long as we are working together, it would be better if we actually worked together and you saved your righteous anger for after the girls are safe?"

"Point taken. Jack, I get pissed sometimes. I don't stay pissed, 'cause, what's the point? I don't like what you did. Doesn't mean I won't throw you a line if you fall overboard, okay? Now, you don't want to hug or anything do you?" Then Harris laughed.

"Jack," he said, "you should see your face."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sydney took a long pull on her water bottle and thought, for the first time in a long while, about her time in training with SD-6. It had come easily to her, not just the martial arts, but the memorization drills, the cryptography, the various surveillance exercises… She had been far too excited by the world opening to her to care, but she had been vaguely aware that she was disliked by many of her classmates, especially the women, her abilities resented, which had seemed silly to her at the time.

She understood a little better now. She had been teaching Faith some jiu-jitsu holds and throws, and at first, she had to admit, there had been a certain satisfaction in catching the slayer by surprise with a couple submission holds, pleased at her frank admiration for some of the sneakier joint-locks and choke maneuvers. But it was a little disheartening to realize just how fast Faith was learning, show her a move once and she had it, getting it right on the first, at worst the second time through even with Sydney resisting at full strength. They'd worked most on chokeholds and escaping them, the fight with Allison had given Faith a little scare.

"'Course," she'd told Sydney, "a choke ain't gonna work on a vamp, no breath, no blood pressure…so I just never thought about it … she totally caught me off guard there. Have to start putting this into the regular slayer training cause a newbie could totally freak and get bit."

As they'd practiced Sydney became more and more aware of just how much Faith was holding back. Sydney was used to working out with bigger stronger male opponents but this different, this was to realize that no matter what she did, she was completely at Faith's mercy, that what had taken Sydney long hours of intense practice to perfect took Faith five minutes to master. It was irritating.

But it was impossible to really resent Faith, at the moment anyway, she was having too much fun. Dragging a somewhat mellowed Xander all over to check out the luxurious staterooms and the view from the bridge and talking the bemused Captain into letting her guide the boat out of port. And now she was going through a Wing Chun sticky hands exercise with her mother, the two of them moving together with a fluid grace, grinning at one another the way you just had to sometimes when you were in the zone.

After awhile her mother, chest heaving a little, shaking her head, came and sagged to the deck beside her and it was Harris' turn, he appeared with a pair of wooden staffs and soon the yacht echoed with their clatter as they sparred. Then Sydney was pulled in as well, Xander tossed her Faith's staff and gave Faith a foot and half long tonfa to defend herself with and the three of them leaped around the boat like kids playing pirates and Faith appeared to at least actually be breathing a little harder when Harris finally sank to the mat and called for mercy. Faith gave him a minute or two to catch his breath and then began his jiu-jitsu education. Sydney was relieved to observe that he seemed to have normal human difficulties in learning the more complicated moves.

She went over and took her mother's out-stretched hand and pulled as the older woman came lightly to her feet. As the grappling lesson began to take on an increasingly erotic element they discreetly retired to the main cabin where her father was ensconced in one of the thick tomes from her mother's occult collection,

"You still think she's half robot Jack?" her mother said. "You were watching, do you really think a machine can be that graceful, that fluid, that playful. I cannot believe there's any technology even approaching that kind of sophistication or we would have heard about it. It's something else Jack. For lack of a better word call it magic, and there's got to be a way to tap into it. If primitive old men who still started fires by rubbing sticks together could do it than surely you and I can find a way." She looked up, apparently caught Sydney's startled expression.

"I'm not talking about taking anything away from Faith, Sydney. I quite like her." her mother turned toward her, put her hand on her arm, slowly moved across her shoulders, down over the ridged muscles of her back and up again to rest on her cheek. "You are so young, so strong, so beautiful, still in your prime, but don't tell me you weren't just a little jealous out there, didn't wish for a moment or two that you too could leap buildings in a single bound?"

"Of course."

"Multiply that feeling by almost thirty years, Sydney… and imagine. So, you must be hungry. Jack? I'll have the cook prepare lunch then."

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**LOS ANGELES**

Robert Lindsey was sitting at the head of the conference table, leaning back in his chair being very very calm. Pointedly so as the hapless computer tech tried to explain that all the drives in Marshall's office and all the back-up drives in the basement vault that recorded his daily activity had all melted like Dali's watch. No, the tech had no idea how that had happened without there being any burn marks or any signs of heat.

Lauren Reed bit her lip and waited her turn to be patiently tolerated as she reported zip zero nada sightings of travelling Bristows. The commando teams had landed just two hours ago in Brazil and were in the process of their initial recon, so far they had sighted, trees, mud, and some fish.

"Fish?" Lindsey asked.

"Yes," Lauren replied, "piranha, I believe."

"Very well," Lindsey said kindly, "it's the first day, perhaps we'll have better luck tomorrow."

She did have another intercepted Buffy – Giles call to report, though there was nothing of substance…

"Play it," Lindsey ordered.

"Buffy, what is it?"

"She's done it again. I can't believe her. Can you believe her? She took Willow's travel thing-a-mcwhoosit right out of my closet. I'm gonna…

"Buffy…. Buffy!"

"…tie her to a chair and make her watch game shows…. What?"

"Did you like the present Willow sent you, the pink one with the unicorns?"

"What? Present? …. Oh. Yeah. So. How's the weather in England? Is it raining? I bet it's raining."

"There is a certain amount of precip…."

"Ha. Raining. Knew it. Talk to you later, Giles."

Lauren wasn't quite sure why, but something about that conversation worried her.

"Anything else?" Lindsey asked. "Okay. Thank you, Lauren. "Mr. Weiss?"

And it was Weiss' turn to report on the complete and inexplicable disappearance of Marshall and Carrie Bowman and the destruction of Marshall's house.

"I'll leave the investigation in your capable hands," Lindsey said.

Lindsey slipped out his office, dismissed his driver and took a cab to the restaurant where the blonde man was waiting in a booth near the back. Lindsey slid into the booth and sat waiting. The blonde man spoke into a cell phone,

"Is he alone?….. Good. Well done, Mr. Lindsey. You're capable of following instructions, no wonder you've risen so high in your chosen profession. Did you bring Mr. Tippin's particulars?"

"What do you want with Tippin, Mr. Sark?" Lindsey asked.

"Ah, that is none of your concern, just as am not asking you why you want to know about the Bristows. The address please."

Lindsey slid a folded piece of paper across the table. Sark it opened and read, dialed his cell phone, said, "Check the Wisconsin DMV for a Jonas Earl Williams, and send me a picture. Would you like something to drink while we wait, Mr. Lindsey? No?"

They sat idly for a few minutes, then Sark's phone beeped and he inspected the screen for moment, then nodded, closed the phone and started to rise, Lindsey grabbed his arm.

"Where do you think you're going? Where are the Bristows?"

"As far as I know they are still in Havana."

"But you said…"

"Yes, well, that's why I always like to deal with management. An actual field operative would never have fallen for that, Mr. Lindsey."

"Now look," Lindsey said, starting rise,…. And found himself laying on his back on the table, his wrist bent back in a very uncomfortable position.

"You look, Mr. Lindsey," Sark said, his voice soft but full of sudden menace, "I now have an audio visual record of you, an agent of the Federal Government giving me, a known criminal and terrorist, classified information regarding a protected witness. You have two choices, you can go to prison, or you can join with me in what I expect to be a mutually beneficial partnership."

Lindsey nodded and Sark released his wrist and Lindsey slump back onto his seat.

"Be seeing you, _pardner_," Sark said and left. Lindsey waited a moment for the vein in his left temple to stop throbbing. Then dialed his cell, said, "This is Robert Lindsey, code number," he pulled a card out of his wallet and read off a series of numbers and letters, "and I am ordering immediate elimination of Julian Sark, he's on file. If you move quickly he's likely to be found at this address in Wisconsin."

So much, Lindsey thought, for going into the office tomorrow and casually revealing he'd discovered the Bristow's whereabouts on his own while all his minions failed. So it goes.

So much, Lindsey thought , for accepting their reports of failure with quiet patience, tomorrow there'd be hell in the conference room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eric Weiss took the bus for a dozen blocks, took a cab, walked for awhile, took a second cab, walked for awhile, decided he was clean and went into the twenty-four coffee shop and found Dixon waiting for him.

"Are you in?" Dixon asked him.

Weiss had been thinking about it on the way over. This would most likely be the end of his career. He'd joined because his buddy Vaughn had. Well, partially. He'd joined the CIA because he thought it would be fun. Interesting. And, well, some of the time it was and Weiss figured that was about as much as you could reasonably ask of any job.

He'd thought about the day he'd helped Sydney move into her new apartment, they'd talked, they'd killed a bottle of vodka, he'd ached to take her in his arms and hold her. Thank god he'd managed to restrain himself, that would have been…awful. Even through the fumes he'd known it was never gonna happen, he was Vaughn's funny friend, he was the fat guy who did magic tricks and he didn't even show up on Sydney's radar. It was Darwin in full force, she was superior genetic material, he was not, end of story. He'd be a fool to throw his career away for her sake. Or for Marshall, who was a familiar face around the office, the guy you wanted watching your technical back on a mission, but hardly a bosom buddy. But then it wasn't about that, Weiss told himself.

If he didn't do this, then the job just wouldn't be fun anymore. Ever.

"I'm in," he said without hesitating and Dixon smiled, held out his hand and they shook.

He followed Dixon out the back door and got into the waiting car and they drove to a rather more secure than average self-storage lot, and Dixon opened one of the units, and they stepped inside. There were file cabinets stacked against one wall, computer equipment setup on a center table. And a variety of small arms, ammo boxes, and explosives lining the other wall.

"Damn, Marcus, you preparing for Armageddon?"

"This is Jack's," Dixon answered. "And Jack's prepared for everything."

**-30- **

Next: Chapter 14: A Quiet Family Night


	15. Chapter 14: A Quiet Family Night

Chapter 14: A Quiet Family Night

**A/N:** See Prologue for disclaimer, warnings, notes on _Alias_

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_"Vampires have their stakes and werewolves have their silver bullets, but there is nothing man has yet devised that can kill a government program."_ - **Bob Krumm**

_In the last analysis, man may be defined as a parasite on a vegetable._-- **Hans Zinsser **_Rats, Lice and History_

**Chapter 14: A Quiet Family Night **

**LOS ANGELES**

Whatever the girls were, Carrie decided as she slipped the forgotten utility bill off the counter and into her pocket, professional kidnappers they were not. Unless it the bill was a fake and … Nah.

Carrie wasn't particularly experienced in the world of professional kidnapping or even, when you got down to it, in the operations side of espionage but she was fairly certain that, as a general rule, professional kidnappers did not, after making a snatch, go off to high school the next morning.

On the other hand Carrie's world _had_ become rather strange. Normally Marshall would get a sharp finger-snap to the ear for observing nubile young females that closely, but she forebear because she knew his interest was not prurient but technical; he was looking for the service panels, a place to plug in the battery charger. Which meant the father of her child was probably insane.

Of course she was the one who had walked back and forth between bedroom and bathroom four times looking for the soft chair or whatever it was that had invisibly broken her fall, knowing full well that she would find nothing and it must have been a dream.

Another thing she suspected was rather uncommon in the average kidnapping, long telephone calls home. The leggy brunette who had introduced herself as Dawn was hovering over the stove and arguing over a cell phone with someone that, given the petulant tone, could only be a family,

_"I left you a note and I'm calling you now so…. _

"I so do not need your permission …

"Well, if you'd let Willow give me my own 'porter I wouldn't have to steal yours…

"It was so an emergency, it was a mid-term and I was so late because someone ran the Vespa out of benzina and just carried it home instead of filling up and didn't tell anyone…"

"No, you don't have to ride the nasty old airplane, you don't have to come at all…

"I'm not by myself I'm with Titties and Dwayne… well of course it annoys them why else…"

"Because S-words need to be teased so they don't get all stuffy and uppity. Well, we tried, well, Xander tried but you already had a silly name so nothing else stuck…"

Dwayne, Carrie assumed, was the thirty-ish Tommy Chong lookalike seated next to Marshall at the kitchen table pouring honey from a plastic bear over some tannish-gray matter in a bowl.

He stood up as she, exaggerating her pregnant waddle, came into the kitchen proper. He was wearing a green knee length kurta, white pants and sandals and smelled vaguely of citrus. He came around the table and pulled out a chair and helped her into it, introduced himself as Dwayne, her connection for decent healthy food.

"If you like grass and leaves in grass sauce on a bed of grass seeds with boiled leaves to drink, Dwayne's your man," Dawn interrupted. "I however offer pancakes, round or funny shaped, with and without peanut butter, with bacon and sausage, which is why everyone likes me better."

"Actually, a peanut butter pancake sounds good, no offense, Dwayne," Carrie said.

"None, taken, especially," he stage-whispered, "since I threw out all the Skippy and replaced it with organic all-natural crunchy. And after all, the pancakes_ are_ made of ground up grass seeds."

After breakfast Dawn led them into Dwayne's adjoining apartment and there into a room with several workstations set up at a central table, with a workbench at one side of the room. Marshall's laptop was on the table as well.

"Okay," Dawn said, "here's the deal, you guys are our prisoners only in the sense that you can't leave, and really, that's for your own protection. Other than that, what you do is up to you. You want to lay around and watch TV, cool. Carrie, if you need anything, got any cravings, as long as it's not Dom Pérignon and caviar, we'll see what we can do…

"On the other hand, what you did was, with a little help from me for which I am truly sorry, you stumbled into some really really bad people. And they sent some really really bad people to kill you. Think of it this way, you kicked a hornet's nest. I work for the exterminators. Now we know where they bank, but we don't know where they are. As soon as we found out where they are, we go in with the bug spray and clean them out. Then you can go home. I've got the data you downloaded, I'm going to work on it, but I could sure use your help, both of you."

"Why?" Marshall asked, "if you can hack into the CIA, why do you need my help?"

"Well, that's a little trick a friend taught me. It gets me in, and I'm learning, but you are still much better than I am at actually searching. The people we're after, they know how to block my little trick, but you still got past them. I could really use your help."

"Will you tell me how you got past my firewalls if I help?" Marshall asked.

"When we're all done, sure."

"Can we send a message to tell someone we're okay?" Carrie asked.

"We'll work something out."

"Can we have a moment to talk alone?"

"Sure," Dawn said, and smiled, nodded toward the door, "away from the computers."

They sat on the couch in Dwayne's livingroom, Carrie discreetly showed Marshall the utility bill with the #212 Pearson Arms address and his eyes widened. He nodded.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**WISCONSIN**

Julian Sark shifted stiffly in the seat of his rental car. He missed Cuba, the warm sea air, his morning run on the beach. He'd found he was even missing Allison, just a little. Or maybe it was just being in Milwaukee made him miss being almost anywhere else. Poor Tippin, Sark thought, the man has absolutely no luck. Promising career as a reporter wiped out, a little torture, public humiliation, exile to an ugly sprawling mid-western American city, cold too in the winter, Sark imagined. Hell, Sark thought, he may even be glad to see me.

Sark yawned, stretched, and with his head tilted back got just a glimpse of movement on the roof on the building across from Tippin's. Well now.

Fifteen minutes later he slipped off his shoes and crept across the roof and came up behind the sniper and hit him in the back of the neck with his stun gun. When the man had done flopping about he bound his hands and searched him, took his pistol, knife and wallet. He found the picture in his front coat pocket. Sark's picture. Not Tippin's.

So Lindsey had more balls than he had given him credit for. Sark added Robert Lindsey to one of the little lists he kept in his head.

He waited on the roof, watching until Tippin arrived and went inside, then he kicked the sniper awake, forced him to lead the way downstairs.

At the door to Tippin's apartment Sark straightened the sniper's clothes, brushed his hair, made him stand in front of the peephole and knocked, then shoved hard as Tippin opened the door, knocking the sniper into Tippin and forcing both men back into the apartment, Sark stepped inside and shut door, said,

"Mr. Tippin, so nice to see you again," and saw the man go wide-eyed and pale, "I have some good news and some bad news, which would you like first?"

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**LOS ANGELES**

Dwayne served tofu pad thai for lunch and while Dawn complained bitterly Marshall noticed she had three helpings. As did he, it was quite good.

Marshall was a little worried that he was beginning to suffer from Stockholm Syndrome, as he was starting to rather like Dawn, who was often funny, and considerate of Carrie without treating her like an invalid, which scored her points with both of them. Dwayne took a little more getting used to. Marshall was immediately suspicious of anyone who referred to computers as "dread machines" and "inorganic invaders." And once on his way to the bathroom Marshall overheard Dwayne in the kitchen having a long conversation about grocery shopping, apparently with the refrigerator, which he called "Dennis" for some reason. But he seemed harmless, and friendly enough, and it really didn't disturb Marshall's worldview much to discover that a man who wore a beard and his hair in a ponytail that fell halfway down his back and dressed all day in silk pajamas had named his appliances. Especially since Dwayne's area of expertise seemed be in the pharmaceutical and exotic plant areas, each time they came across an invoice detailing the purchase of one or the other Dawn would draw his attention to it and he would go off and start searching through the rather extensive collection of reference books he had shelved in his livingroom. Occasionally Dawn would join him and peer over his shoulder and they would hold whispered conversations.

Marshall made a point to checking to see if the refrigerator was some sort of smart model with voice recognition software but he saw no evidence that it was anything other than an ordinary Amana.

By the time Tracy and Taariq came back from school calling for food…. apparently, Marshall decided, Dennis the Refrigerator was either some sort of group joke or the girls indulged Dwayne in his delusions… by the time the girls came back they, Marshall, Dawn, Carrie and Dwayne had stuck enough pins in the map to be pretty sure that whatever the new Initiative was doing, it was doing it in Panama.

And that it involved secret medical experimentation of some kind. Marshall still thought that idea that he was safer in some apartment building in Silverlake than in his office at the CIA was absurd, but he decided that Dawn was telling the truth about the companies he'd been investigating. Really, not nice people.

For dinner there was vegetarian lasagna and salad and squealing as Tracy presented Dawn with a bag of _In-n-Out_ burgers to Dwayne's good-natured disgust. After which Dawn declared the computer room off limits on the grounds that her brain hurt.

Dawn made popcorn, let Carrie chose a DVD from a fairly extensive if strange collection of chick flick and kung fu movies. It was like a quiet family evening at home. After the movie the 'TNT' girls went off with Dwayne for awhile and came back sweaty, as if after an evening jog.

Marshall and Carrie eventually found themselves alone in the Zebra room, bemused.

"Did you set it up?" Carrie asked.

"Yes," Marshall answered, 'the moment either of the workstations I used gets hooked back up to the network, the address goes out to Vaughn and Dixon."

"I almost feel bad about that," Carrie said, "You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Marshall said. "No one's ever going to believe us, you know? That we were held captive by three girls and a vegetarian."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lindsey raged. A day spent harassing old ladies and one-eyed men at every international airport in the Caribbean basin had netted one eighty-year-old drug mule and no Bristows and no Harris's.

In the Amazon the recon slash ambush teams had found, to quote the team leaders report, "One big ass snake, some mean fucking fish, three laughing natives in a boat and some trees. And, oh yeah, some mud."

In the evening the call he'd been anticipating came, but not with the news he'd been waiting for. A body had been found in the Tippin's burnt out apartment, the assassin sent to delete Sark had failed to report in, draw your own conclusions.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eric Weiss paced. He was all psyched up and nowhere to go. He had the travelling/assault kit he and Dixon had assembled sitting by the door, waiting. There had been a little excitement in the morning when the emailed picture of Marshall and Carrie holding that morning's LA Times had come in but there had been no communication to follow and the attempt to trace it had failed. Then nothing.

And more nothing. Lindsey had shouted at everybody in the conference room.

Kendall from the DSR came and shouted at Lindsey.

Lindsey called everyone into the conference room, asked them what Marshall had been working on. No one knew. Lindsey shouted.

Then nothing. Weiss had gone home.

Weiss paced.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dwayne slid the wall panels in the computer room up to reveal the bank of security monitors, murmured softly into his walkie-talkie alerting Taariq to the demon trying to sneak up behind her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she whispered back and a moment later Dwayne did the universal male sympathy hunch as the slayer's sword came up between the beast's legs and cleaved the demon in half.

He stayed in place, murmuring encouragement and the occasional warning as two more demons were beheaded and a third captured and interrogated. He listened in, suggested a couple questions, but mostly let Tracy and Taariq do their jobs. The demons were mercenaries, just moved up from Guatemala, their transportation part of the payment for this job and the survivor was quite pissed as the man who'd hired them had failed to mention that Marshall was guarded by slayers. No, he didn't know the name but he gave them a description, though that was of little value as, like most demons he paid little attention to the details of human features. All the same to him. Two eyes, two legs, two arms, hair on top.

The girls forced him to gather up the bodies of his companions and drop them into the nearest sewer entrance, told him to pass the word that Marshall was under protection and that there would be a reward for any information leading to the men who'd hired the mercenaries to attack him. The girls took off to make a sweep around the neighborhood, Dwayne turned the alarm back on, closed down the monitors and covered them. He barely avoided stepping on the male end of a loose cable, kneeled down and peered at the computers under the table, saw what looked to be the likely empty slot and plugged the cable in, shook his head. Evil things. He tried to be all New Watcher and computer literate, he owed it to his girls to at least maintain a basic competence. He tried to view the computers as just tools, a more complicated hammer. But there was a fundamental coldness in the machines that made a demon's heart seem warm and cozy in comparison.

He stopped and peered into his guestroom where Dawn lay snoring softly. He liked Dawn, he knew she never meant to be high-handed, she didn't mean to exploit the Buffy's sister thing, she'd only come because she felt she was cleaning up her own mistakes. Still it would be pleasant to tell her over breakfast that they had handled the raid fine without her.

He closed the door on the computer room and went to join Dennis who would already be making the mango smoothies and laying out the banana-nut bread and the baked apples Dwayne had prepared for post-slayage snacking. He was making progress, the girls still insisted on their pizzas and their burgers and their fried chicken, but they would eat his other offerings as well, mostly without complaint. And he'd totally weaned them off the greasy commercial doughnuts and hostess cakes in favor of fresh fruits and home-baked pastries. It had just been a question of getting them to try them. Once he'd convinced Dennis that it was best for the girl's health and the ghost had made their twinkie stashes disappear it had been plain sailing.

As he awaited the girls return he started planning out his next letter to Georgianne. Now that Harris and his doughnut fetish was at least temporarily out of the way he could start working on her to add some of his dishes to the Cleveland repertoire. Now that the girls had actual lifetimes to consider they needed to take care of themselves just like a normal humans. Just because they _could_ eat half a cow for breakfast didn't mean they _should._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ON THE CARIBBEAN, SSE OF CUBA**

Sydney gave up and got out of bed. In the abstract the idea of her parents sleeping together after all these years was pleasant. It didn't mean she wanted to listen in. She left her cabin and paused outside Faith and Xander's door, thinking it would be nice to sit and have a quiet late night talk when she wasn't plastered, but just in time she heard the sounds within and held back her knock. She went on deck alone instead, wandered back to the stern, listening to the steady thrum of the engines and watching the wake shimmer in the moonlight. The loneliness washed over her like a seventh wave. She wished Vaughn… no, to hell with that. That was over. That was not meant to be. It was time to stop…pining. To stop waiting for time to go backward.

For one thing, when this was over she was going to get laid.

When this was over the first half-way decent guy she met was going to get the night of a lifetime.

But more than that, she was going to reassess and make a change in her life somehow, cause if you found yourself on a yacht in the Caribbean, caressed by warm air, beneath truly glorious field of stars… and you found yourself _alone_ … then you were doing something wrong.

Or maybe she wouldn't wait 'til it was over. Like her mother had said, _carpe diem_ was the lesson of the last few years. Cause you never knew where in the hell you might wake up the next morning.

**-30- **

Next: Chapter 15: A Bristow Family Vacation


	16. Chapter 15: A Bristow Family Vacation

Roosevelt asked his attorney general, Philander Knox, to articulate a principled defense for his actions (in Panama).

**_"Oh, Mr. President,"_ Knox replied, _"do not let so great an achievement suffer from any taint of legality." _**

**Senor Ferrari _As the leader of all illegal activities in Casablanca, I am an influential and respected man. _**

**Casablanca  
**

**Chapter 15: A Bristow Family Vacation**

**PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAITI**

It was early still but fully light when they arrived in the Haiti, Sydney stood with Xander and Faith in the bow and watched the hills rise out of the horizon, the sprawling city take shape, the grayish clutter resolving into streets and buildings. Faith, she noticed, seemed unusually alert, focused, as they came into the port.

She put Sydney in mind of one of the sniffer dogs they sometimes used to search for explosives.

An armored Mercedes met them at the dock in Port-au-Prince, a man in a custom's office uniform riding shotgun. He greeted Irina warmly and with a touch of deference and, as his presence allowed them to avoid the custom's procedures altogether and drive directly into the city, Sydney was forced once again to remember that her mother was… well, she didn't want to put a label on her, but she worked, to put it politely, outside the law. In her defense, being a wanted criminal gave her little choice, but what it was she actually did… was in the _don't ask don't tell_ realm of their still uneasy relationship.

They dropped the customs officer off at the outside gate of the customs enclosure, Xander and Faith moved out of the crowded backseat and sat with the driver as the big car negotiated the chaotic traffic. Havana had been poor, of course, compared to American cities, but this was another level. The poverty more visible, out in the broken and pot-holed streets, in the battered cars and ragged clothing and the deformed beggars hovering around the edges of a street markets. And above all in the dirt that was everywhere.

Sydney was, to say the least, well traveled, but her work hardly ever took her out of the embassy rows and fine hotels and into the shanties and warrens of third world poverty where even or maybe especially armed members of the CIA tread carefully. She found herself gawking like a tourist, alternately saddened by what she saw and grateful she was only passing through. They passed through a warehouse district and parked in front of the offices of a small airstrip on the north side of town. Inside a nervous man in blue uniform informed them that the plane would not be ready for another two hours, news that her mother took with surprising patience.

"Never rush an airplane mechanic, Sydney, at least not when you're a passenger," her mother said with a wry smile and allowed the relieved man to show them into a dusty waiting room.

"A couple hours?" Xander said, "If you don't need us I think we'll go see a bit of the city."

"Of course, the car is still here, isn't it? Just tell the driver…."

"That's okay," Xander had answered, "I saw what looked like a local turnaround a couple blocks back, we'll grab a tap-tap."

"Are you sure, this isn't the safest place in the world for wandering white people…." Her mother started then smiled and trailed off at Xander's look.

Fifteen minutes later Sydney began to wish she'd invited herself along on the trip but when she went outside they were already out of sight.

Two hours passed and they didn't return. On the other hand, the plane wasn't ready either. Another half hour went by Sydney began to worry. What if they didn't come back? Even knowing where to go, who to look for, doing it without Faith…. Her mother remained serene but she could see the tension growing in her father's brow. Faith had seemed…. expectant. Was someone else…. Maybe even some _thing_ meeting them here, was this some sort of double-cross….?

At two hours and forty-five minutes they heard a roaring engine, then a squeal of brakes and Sydney rushed outside to see a cloud of dust slowly dissipate to reveal a dilapidated Toyota that seemed almost to be trembling with exhaustion. A laughing Xander was speaking some sort of polyglot pidgin with the equally amused driver, Faith was coming around behind the car carrying a couple bunches of fresh bananas and a bag of mangos in one hand and several scraps of charred meat on sticks in the other.

"Hey, Syd," she called holding out the impaled kebabs, "Fresh goat? Hot off the grill? Good for the jaw muscles." The aroma of burnt flesh and hot peppers wafted over her.

"Perhaps some other time," Sydney said politely and was laughed at. But now, of all times, one thing she didn't need was a bout of traveler's tummy.

"You sure?" Faith said, "Xan made them put it right in the fire, good and hot."

And then her father amazed her, coming outside and taking one of the sticks, inspecting it, looked hard at Faith and said,

"In the fire?" and she nodded and he took a bite and chewed.

"Ah," he said, "haven't had burnt goat in years." He reached out and helped himself to one of the bananas and went back inside to join her mother who was announcing the readiness of the plane.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

It was silly, he knew, under the circumstances, but Eric Weiss felt a little put out. The little pipsqueak had sent his SOS to Dixon… all right, that made sense, they'd been together a long time at SD-6. And to Vaughn. Just Vaughn. So, he wasn't best buds with little geek, well, neither was Vaughn. Who was it that went to your house you ungrateful technoid, was it Vaughn? Well, yes, and Dixon. But who else. Yeah. Me. Mr. Cellophane.

Dixon had given him the high sign when he had arrived in the morning, he'd grabbed some files and made an excuse and gone into the big man's office and found Vaughn waiting there and they were parsing the message. The address was straightforward enough and the request for non-lethal arms, although it would be ignored, made sense, he wouldn't want bullets flying around with Carrie in the line of fire. But why was it so important that any rescue attempt be made during school hours? Did Marshall's kidnappers have children? Was snatching CIA agents a family business now?

Dixon had managed to download blueprints of the Pearson Arms building, he passed them both copies and they made plans to meet in an alley two blocks north of the target at eleven hundred, after each had found an excuse to slip away from the office.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**OVER THE CARIBBEAN, SSW OF HAITI**

Sydney was impressed. Harris was asleep. The plane on which they were hitching a wholly unrecorded ride had turned out to belong to one of the international package delivery companies, making a regular run. The passenger accommodations were makeshift at best but Harris had managed to make himself a nest in some extra netting and zonked out despite the noise.

"Kept him up late and got him up early," Faith said with a grin.

Sydney's mother and father were up front with the lone pilot, in the extra seats available in the cockpit, she and Faith sat in unfolded director's chairs the pilot kept for his occasional live cargos.

They were silent for a awhile, Faith watching Harris sleep and Sydney watching Faith who finally caught her at it, said,

"What?"

"You're all gooey-eyed," Sydney said, smiling. The light coming through the tiny window was not the best, but she could swear she saw the slayer blush, just a little.

Faith nodded toward the sleeping man. "I knew him when he was this geeky kid. Or at least that's all I saw, and you know, hell, I mean I know better up here," she tapped her forehead, "but part of me still sees him that way or sees that part of him, you know?"

Sydney nodded, Faith went on,

"I never been outside the States before, except to Rome and London once, but that was with people I knew, and hell, not that different. Not the parts I saw anyway. Not like this place, man. That was just… that was another world. And he just slipped into it, you know? It was kinda … impressive. A whole other side to him I never really… I mean I knew he went through some shit in Africa, but I guess I couldn't really picture it, yeah?"

Sydney nodded, said,

"I know what you mean. I remember the first time I actually worked with my father in the field… and I saw him in action and realized he was… a pro. I knew he had a reputation … but it was different actually seeing him perform."

They sat silent for awhile. Faith said,

"I grew up in … shitsville USA, Syd. I've chased the vamps and demons into a nasty neighborhood or two, but damn… And there's evil there, too, Syd. I guess maybe you can't feel it but the ol' slayer senses were going _woo woo woo_ from the moment we hit the dock.…. When this is over me and Xan are gonna have to come back."

She was quiet a moment, then shook her shoulders, tossed her hair, grinned,

"So what about you, Syd, we gonna find you a little action in the fleshpots of Panama? 'Cause I can see you're achin' for it."

"I am not."

"For a big time spy, Syd, you ain't got much of a poker face, you know that?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

"Michael, what's going on?" Lauren Reed caught her husband's arm and pulled him into her office.

"You sure you want to know?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"We got a message from Marshall. Dixon and I. We know where he is."

"So what's the big secret? That's good news, right? We can mount a rescue, give me something to tell Lindsey besides how we found more mud and bugs in Brazil."

"The reason he was taken probably has something to do with what he was doing for Jack. We need make sure we know what we're dealing with before we bring Lindsey in. Besides I don't trust the NSC SWAT to be as careful about Marshall and Carrie as we will."

"We?"

"Eric, Dixon and I, we're going in ASAP," and Lauren knew she had come to one of those crossroads, one of those moments that alter your life, she made her choice, she said,

"I'm coming with you."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Marshall heard the low beeping and looked up from the screen just in time to see Dwayne come striding in to the computer room and slide up a wall panel to reveal a bank of security monitors, one of which featured Weiss and Dixon moving stealthily down the hall outside the apartment. Another showed Vaughn and Lauren coming from the other direction.

Dawn stood up from her work station and looked at Marshall with sad eyes,

"Marshall," she said, "you've been a bad bad boy, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry," Marshall said automatically, then caught himself. I'm apologizing to my kidnappers, I've got to stop this. Stockholm. Stockholm.

"Look," Carrie said, pointing at the monitors, "there's no van on the street, no snipers in place, it's not an official team, it's just our friends. Just let us go and I promise, we'll just go away, okay?"

"They're your friends?" Dawn said with a smile, "Then we won't beat them up too badly. Now, you need to go wait in your room, please don't make us use force to get you there."

Marshall knelt at the locked door and peered through the old-fashioned keyhole. And saw most of the fight.

He saw Dixon and Weiss burst in the doorway and drop their guns, reach for them only to somehow kick them away, sending them sliding across the floor.

He saw Dwayne leap into view, shirtless now, revealing that he wasn't _quite _as scrawny as he seemed, still the Bruce Lee _ki-yah_ and pose-with-nunchuks he did seemed more to amuse Dixon and Weiss than threaten them.

He saw Dixon swing on Dwayne and saw Weiss suddenly lean forward to intercept the blow with his face and go down in a heap while Dixon stared in befuddlement at his fist a moment, before suddenly standing upright, arms akimbo as Dwayne kicked him hard in the fork and then whacked him over the head with the nunchuks when he kneeled down… and then out.

Vaughn came in then and inexplicably tossed his gun away and stared after it a moment, then doubled-over as Dwayne kicked him in the belly, slammed a knee to his chin.

Lauren dropped her gun as well, there must be some kind of super-powerful magnet in the floor there, Marshall thought, as she struggled and failed to retrieve it, then began attacking Dwayne with a series of surprisingly powerful kicks that he fended off with ease but declined to return, until Dawn appeared behind Lauren and hit her over the head with an old fashioned cosh. Dwayne and Dawn high-fived, which Dwayne apparently enjoyed so much he did it again by himself. Marshall turned leaned back against the door, sank down to sit against it and looked back at Carrie.

"CIA, zero," he said, "girls and vegetarian, six."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**COLON FREE TRADE ZONE, PANAMA**

Again they bypassed the formalities, the car waiting on the runway of the Colon Airstrip took them into the right-angled maze of warehouses and shop fronts that made up the Free Zone and dropped them in front of a store offering new and used motorcycles of various brands.

Again Irina was greeted with a sort of nervous deference and they were led through the showroom into the back, passing through a large workshop where motorcycles were being assembled from used parts.

Faith stopped and watched a moment, then cursed, hurried forward to join Irina and her guide, pulled her aside,

"These bikes we're getting, they weren't assembled here, right? "Cause they're fucking using glue."

"Oh, no," Irina laughed, "Enrique knows better than to try that with me. They'll be new."

"Your mom sure knows her way around," Faith said to Sydney as they waited for Irina too finalize the deal.

"Yes," Sydney said with a shrug. "She does."

The deal was four black KTM Adventures, 990 models for Jack and for Faith and Xander to share, the lighter 640s for Syd and her mother.

To Jack's disgust, and Irina's subsequent amusement, Faith and Xander insisted on stopping to see the Gatun locks, as long as they were in the neighborhood.

"You guys go on ahead, we'll catch up," Harris had suggested but neither Jack nor Sydney wanted that.

Standing with the rest of the tourists on the viewing platform Sydney reflected on all the places she'd been without seeing the sights they were famous for, she'd been to India but not seen the Taj Mahal, to Egypt and never seen the pyramids…. On the other hand when Faith pronounced the sight of a ship slowly sinking from one level to another "seriously boring" she had to agree. She would probably feel the same about the pyramids. Big pile of rocks. Big deal. Better to travel with a purpose, the excitement meeting a contact in a mundane Berlin coffee shop better than an idle afternoon at the Louvre. Well, it was a theory.

Harris seemed fascinated by the whole process, though, and her father had unbent enough to join him at the rail and embark on a lengthy recitation of some of the grim history of the canal. To amuse themselves as they waited Faith and Sydney began making whispered comments on the other sightseers clothing and lobster-hued tans, and giggling. Syd glanced around and saw that her mother was idly perusing a _Focus Panama_, body language speaking of resigned patience.

Ohmigod, I'm on a family vacation, Sydney thought.

But Chevy Chase at his most insane would have been left in the dust if he'd tried to keep up with Faith as she played with the new bike, testing it's limits. Dodging between potholes and overladen trucks on the road from Colon to Panama City certainly provided sufficient adrenaline, the rattling ride provided by the bikes' dual-purpose tires kept the blood pumping. And once they hit the city Sydney could see her mother was right. The traffic on the main streets was nearly at a standstill, long lines of brightly painted buses inched along, all manner of vehicles from shiny SUVs to crumpled Hyundais jockeyed for position as mopeds and motorcycles weaved their way through. It was, Syd noted, a remarkably polite traffic jam, first come first serve to any bit of open space, but no one seemed to begrudge to the movement if you got there first, no sign of the road rage she would expect to find in any similar situation in LA.

Irina led the way and bit by bit they worked their way through the city center and into the wider, less crowded streets that ran between the high rise apartments, banks and hotels of the _Punta Paitilla. _

The hotel was blandly modern. They had a suite high in the upper stories, still the view from the balcony was quite restricted, mostly of the other buildings, if Faith leaned way out and looked left she could catch just a glimpse of the bay. On the other hand, if you looked straight across the street and a up a little, Irina pointed out, she could see the sign on top of the skyscraper that said _Banco Puente_.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Lindsey stared at the half-empty conference room.

"Where the hell is everybody!?" he said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eric Weiss shifted in his chair and watched the _13 Going on 30 _credits run on the tv screen and continued to avoid looking at his fellow prisoners. They were never going to live this down, he thought. They'd been beaten up by a skinny hippie and a hundred pound girl whose idea of severe interrogation torture was to tie them to a couch and force them to watch chick flicks.

"Don't even think of trying to escape," the girl had warned them, "There will be punishment. We have the entire Lindsay Lohan oeuvre, and I'm not afraid to use it."

He'd gone over the fight again and again. He'd dropped his gun. Who the hell _dropped_ their _gun_? It helped a little that Marshall said there must be some kind of magnet in the floor. It helped more that everyone else had apparently dropped theirs as well. Once or twice he'd been on the point of asking the others if they'd felt like someone else was there, like someone had ripped the gun out their hands, had pushed them … but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. So lame. It wasn't just the hippie and the girl, it was the invisible man. Right.

Marshall wasn't even tied up, he tried once to release them, sneaking into the room in stocking feet, doing the high-kneed tiptoe of an actor in a farce and just as he reached for Dixon's bonds the girl had appeared and chastised him for being "bad" again and Marshall had slunk away.

A little after the movie finished the door burst open and two girls came bouncing in and paused a moment and one said extra loudly,

"Still trying to get Dawn a date, are you, Dwayne? Interesting selection."

"All tied up," the second girl said, "so they've seen her, then?"

There was an answering, "Very funny," from down the hall and the girls moved on to the kitchen as if having four CIA agents tied up in the living room was an every day thing.

"Ooooh, goody, carrot cake," one of the girls said.

Teenage girls squealing over carrot cake, Weiss thought, these are very weird people.

"So who are they?" a girl asked.

"They came to rescue Marshall."

"Oh yeah? CIA. Cool. We gonna _Buffy'_em?"

"Maybe later."

As rescues go, Weiss thought, I've done better.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PANAMA CITY**

"No fucking clue," Faith said. She, Sydney and Irina were in a Hugo Boss shop on the Via Espana, Irina had asked her for Xander's sizes.

"Ah, of course," Irina said with a smile, "I think the charcoal, don't you, the Bertolucci?"

"Whatever," Faith said, "suits not my thing."

"Faith," Irina said then, with a slight sharpness in her tone, she leaned forward, stared into the slayer's eyes, "never let the bullshit intimidate you. It's just an expensive t-shirt. You either like it or you don't. I'm just a peasant girl from upper wasteland Russia, but I know what I like. It's all about the attitude and I know you know that. Now," she pulled a suit off the rack and held it up against the hovering clerk, "picture your Mr. Harris in this? Or maybe the midnight blue…. Faith."

"Yeah?"

"Think of it as a weapon. An edge we use to cut through the crowds and the formalities to get to the man we're after. There's a reason it's called 'looking sharp', yes?"

"Yeah, I guess." Faith thought about it a minute, grinned, said, "I like the midnight blue."

Irina spoke briefly with the clerk in perfect Spanish, and the clerk hurried off with four dark blue suits in different sizes and a selection of shoes, shirts and ties.

Faith stared in surprise.

"Money is a kind of magic too," Irina told her. "Now," Irina said, taking Faith by the arm and gathering Sydney with the other, "the real work begins. There's also a reason," she said, "it's called being dressed to kill."

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 16: Chick Flicks**


	17. Chapter 16: Perfectly Good Soup

Chapter 16: Perfectly Good Soup

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_The first purpose of clothes... was not warmth or decency, but ornament... Among wild people, we find tattooing and painting even prior to clothes. The first spiritual want of a barbarous man is decoration; as indeed we still see among the barbarous classes in civilized countries. _**Thomas Carlyle**

_It's dark and lonely work, Harry - like oral sex, but someone has to do it. _---**Andrew 'Andy' Osnard,** _The Tailor of Panama,_ **John Le Carre**

**Chapter 16: Perfectly Good Soup**

**HAVANA**

"It's him and yet it isn't," Dayami said. She was sitting in her aunt's kitchen, coffee cup in hand. "There's a … stillness. You know how Javier could never just sit still…"

"I remember," Laline said gently.

"He still makes me laugh," Dayami continued after a moment. "And God, you should hear him play now… it's still him but he doesn't make mistakes and get frustrated now, those bar chords he always had trouble with, no problem, he can play so fast now when he wants to… And I swear he seems so happy, playing. I want to just run out and hug him… and I just don't dare. He gets this soft look when we talk about the kids…. And I can't be sure he isn't thinking they'd make a delicious snack."

"That is a problem," Laline said dryly.

"Well, why did you set up the meeting then if you feel that way?"

"I thought that when you saw him you'd realize …. That Javier is dead."

"But he isn't. He comes and visits me every night. He's not the same, but he's still Javier. When he gets ready to leave, when he comes to the door and tells me he loves me… Oh, God, Laline, what am I going to do? There must be something we can do?"

"We?"

"This is all your fault, you know."

"Okay, you stay inside and keep your panties on. I'll see what I can find out. No promises though."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

It was funny, really, Eric Weiss thought. He just wished they had a videophone setup instead to the tiny pink cell Dawn Summers was using to lecture Jack Bristow on the subject of the CIA's more dubious moments in history.

Ah, little girl, if only you knew, Weiss thought.

But he really wished he could see Jack's face as he heard himself described, albeit not so much personally as by association, as a 'knuckle dragging fascist corporate stooge.'

To Weiss' surprise Dwayne was acting as a mediator. After a fashion.

"I'm sure Mr. Bristow doesn't drag his knuckles, Dawn," he said.

While Dawn segued into a diatribe on the subject of George Bush Sr. and Panamanian drug dealer, murderer, dictator and star CIA employee Manuel Noriega, Dwayne and Marshall, with the help of a little jerry-rigging and creative use of a large paper-clip managed to hook up a two-way speaker system to Dawn's cell phone, once Dwayne had gently but firmly pried it away from her.

"Well, it's true," Dawn huffed.

"Of course," Dwayne said, "but not particularly helpful at the moment."

"Gentlemen, Ms. Reed, Ms. Bowman," Jack's voice came through, "I trust you are all well?"

"We are unharmed, Jack," Dixon answered.

"Except for the terminal embarrassment," Weiss contributed.

"Ah, Mr. Weiss," Jack paused, went on, "I cannot explain but… I assure you that you have no need for shame. Ms. Summers' organization may appear… _informal_ by our standards, but I assure you they are formidable. As a professional I must advise you all that it is my belief that if you refuse to cooperate you will eventually be released unharmed. However I would also add that I believe the over all goals of Ms. Summers' organization are very much in line with our own. As a father I tell you that any hope for Sydney to safely regain her memory depends on Sydney and myself retaining the goodwill of these people. I understand that by cooperating with Ms. Summers you may all be jeopardizing your careers, perhaps even your lives, I would not ask this of you for myself but for Sydney, as I am sure you are all aware, I have no such scruples."

"What does Irina Derevko have to do with this?" Vaughn asked.

"Irina Derevko, whatever her other activities, is Sydney's mother and I believe has her best interests at heart. We turned to her for operational support only because Lindsey has made our usual methods impractical."

"What sort of cooperation did you have in mind, Jack?" Dixon asked.

"In the immediate future, we plan to penetrate a Panamanian bank, and Marshall's expertise may be of use. After that, there may be an assault on an as yet unknown location. Logistical support, particularly transport and weaponry may be vital. Mr. Dixon, I believe the assets I left in your care will be sufficient, so that there would be no need to access official CIA equipment. It is your skills, experience and above all, your loyalty to Sydney that will be of value."

There were more questions, details, then Dawn unhooked the phone from the speaker set-up, said,

"Hey, Xan," and walked off to the side and spoke softly for some time.

Weiss looked around and saw his own confusion mirrored in Dixon's eyes… what the hell kind of 'formidable organization' put a twenty-year-old undergrad in charge of … well, anything, let alone dealing with people like Jack Bristow? He checked on Vaughn whose terminally furrowed brow told him nothing, since Sydney's return Weiss had been less and less able to read Vaughn, perhaps because the man himself didn't know what to think. Lauren Reed on the other hand was an open book, as puzzled as the rest of them by the whole situation, but pleased nonetheless. Sydney was cavorting around the Caribbean with Irina Derevko while she, Lauren was nobly risking life and career to not only stand at her husband's side, but rescue her rival. There was no way Michael could leave her after this.

Dawn came back then, closed her phone and announced,

"Okay, here's the deal. Door number one, we take you down to the storage unit in the basement and store you 'til this is over. We feed you the leftover miso soup that Dwayne refuses to throw out despite the fact that's cluttering the freezer and that _no one_ is _ever_ going to eat it voluntarily. So I really recommend door number two…."

"It's perfectly good soup," Dwayne insisted. "And good for you…"

"Dwayne, not helping," Dawn said.

"It has kelp in it," the girl with the striped head called out, "and, well, it tastes pretty much like what you expect seaweed to taste like. If, you know, a cat pissed on it. Just ewww."

"The voice of experience, gentlemen, and Tracy will eat _anything,"_ Dawn continued, "Where was I? Oh, yeah, door number two is you each write down in your own incriminating handwriting a few felonies worth of classified secret stuff about the CIA …. Marshall, tell them how much of this stuff we already know…

"All of it, " Marshall said.

"…. And hand it over to us for safe-keeping. We let you four go, Marshall and Carrie stay here with us for the time being. We let you know if we need you. So, what'll it be?"

"We need to speak to Sydney," Vaughn said.

"Sure, soon as she's back from the mall."

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**PANAMA CITY**

Faith had never been into clothes much. Oh, she cared about her appearance, but she'd settled into her look long ago, she liked dark and tight, show a bit of cleavage, let the bod speak for itself. She knew she was hot and beyond that she could give a fuck what the guys thought, she wanted a guy, she shoved her tits in his face and took him, after that clothes were just in the way.

And now with Xander, if she was a little less with the take and more with the want and the have, she never saw much need to be subtle. If the goods are primo, she figured, you didn't need a lot of trimmings.

Still, as they moved from shop to shop, she realized that for Syd and Irina seduction was a science, choosing a brassiere and deciding just how much of it to show with the same precision Faith would put into whittling one of her throwing stakes. Irina was planning carefully, creating an image, each item she selected was chosen for a reason, which she would casually share if Faith raised an eyebrow. Allison had described their target, outlined his tastes and everything from the color of the wig Syd would wear to the amount of cleavage Faith would bare would be selected with him in mind.

"We could just walk in there, punch out his bodyguards and twist his arm," Faith said and Irina smiled,

"Well, let's keep that for plan b, shall we? There's going to be a lot of guns around, never know when a stray round might completely ruin a perfectly good plan. Besides, it'll be fun, right, Sydney?"

"Oh, sure Mom, seducing sleazebags, just like a day at the beach," Sydney had replied and Faith had seen a brief moment of sadness slide across Irina's face.

Back at the hotel they ate room service sandwiches and Sydney spoke on Xander's blue cell phone while Xander brought Faith up to date on the situation in LA, leaving out Dennis's role but answering her quizzical gaze with a wink.

"Hey Syd," Faith called out, "you talkin' to Dawn? Ask her how she likes the loofah service."

They did a quick photo session, against the blank white wall, two or three pictures each in clothes Irina had purchased just for the photos that they then transmitted to Dawn and Marshall for a little photoshopping and file building.

Afterwards, Irina insisted everyone rest in preparation for a long night.

Naptime over there was a make-up session in Irina's room and again Faith was impressed. Irina had sat her and Syd down by side by side and a few careful lines and a bit of shading later, Faith's relatively round face had lengthened just a little, Sydney's squarer visage softened… and it was obvious they were sisters, the black wig on Sydney completed the effect. Irina sat down then and added a subtle line or two to her own face that already resembled Syd's and one could suddenly see a touch of Faith there too.

They dressed then, underwear, weapons, Faith strapped on her usual stakes and dagger, Syd and Irina each attached a slim automatic to a thigh, garrote wires disguised as bracelets, and hardened steel pins in their hair completed the ensembles. Then the filmy tropic weight dresses in complementary shades of blue, Faith in cleavage baring robins egg, Sydney in a darker shade split high to emphasize the leg, and Irina herself in still darker hues, her own flesh more subtly displayed but still on view. Finally the stiletto heels and a last check in the mirror where Faith had to admit they were looking very fine indeed. And then they stepped out into the main room where Jack and Xander were waiting. Faith thought Xan was looking pretty good himself in the dark suit, pretty damn sharp. Except of course for the open-mouthed, stunned-guppy expression on his face, and the little bit of drool.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

They found themselves standing in hall clutching their kevlar vests and armfuls of weapons and ammo like children after a Christmas party.

_"What the fuck just happened,"_ hung in the air but no one was willing to be the one who said it.

They'd spoken to Sydney--- _"Ohmigod, you guys, I'm so sorry," _her voice reminding them all again of the little girl quality she had that made the men go all protective and her surprise right cross so effective…"Please, whatever my father said, ignore it, I'm fine, take care of yourselves," and what choice did they have after that, really?

They'd heard her thank Dawn for not hurting them, then asking after some guy they'd never heard of, a Dr. Ziti, who Dawn assured Sydney was fine and missing her.

Weiss looked at Vaughn, eyebrows raised, _Dr, Ziti?_ and Vaughn had shrugged.

They'd been released. They'd written their incriminating secrets. Lauren had had to redo hers because Dawn had caught most of her deliberate mistakes, transposed numbers and letters, out of date passwords…..

"Can't blame a girl for trying," Lauren had tried, with a smile.

"Well," Dawn replied, "we can if we want to. Do it again and no cake for you."

They'd sat around the table and eaten carrot cake and drunk cups of sweet spiced tea and made small talk and exchanged numbers and arranged security protocols.

And the moment had come, when it was time to leave and Dixon looked at Weiss who looked at Vaughn who looked at Dixon all with the thought, okay, fine, it's three girls and a geek, we cooperate but we don't leave Marshall and Carrie behind…

And then Dixon had felt Tracy's hand on his shoulder, felt her fingers close, felt his shoulder go numb, saw that across the table Taariq was doing the same thing to Weiss and Vaughn.

"Well," Dawn said, "this has been nice and I'm sure we'll work together just fine, but I want to leave you with one last word of advice. DO. NOT. FUCK. WITH. US."

And now they were in the hall, walking quietly, down the stairs, out the back door, down the alley, no one saying anything, because, what the hell was there to say?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PANAMA CITY**

Rafael Quinones had had a miserable day. There had been some sort of computerized confidentiality breach at the bank that had his chief of security wetting his pants. And well, he had to admit that the people behind the compromised accounts were not the nervous tax cheats and embezzlers that made up the bulk of his clientele… they were different, colder, confident, more mysteriously sinister in an Agent Smith kind of way. But Quinones had dealt with the most brutal Columbian drug lords in his time, he had friends in high places, and he knew full well that it rarely made sense to shoot your banker, it drew the wrong kinds of attention. So he wasn't worried. It was an annoyance. They would have an investigation, some low level IT geek would get fed to the sharks in the bay and business would get back to normal.

But still he'd had to spend most of the day apologizing and making assurances that the physical vaults were still secure, convincing his other clients that rumors of a breach were just rumors. So it was good to get down to _Calle Uruguay_ and his private suite in the _Club Bucanero,_ which he charged to the bank on the grounds that every once in a while he took a client there. But only when really necessary, the club was his one private place, away from the bank, away from his wife. He took a sip of scotch and peered down through the oneway mirror at the main dance floor, looking for new talent, he saw a couple of girls he'd done before… well, he saw a lot of girls he'd done, but only a couple he was willing to do again, they would suffice in a pinch but as always he was in the mood for something new. Something interesting.

He had almost given up when his personal bartender tapped him on the shoulder and whispered that he should watch the main entrance, they had some new members coming in.

Two minder types, an older man and a younger man with a black eye-patch, came through first, surveyed the room, then stepped aside as the ladies came in. Quinones felt his heart beat just a little faster. This was more like it. He picked up the phone.

Fifteen minutes later the club manager came in and handed him a manila folder, "The information you requested, sir."

Quinones went back to the mirror and opened the folder. Oh, this was too good to be true, Tatiana Sokolov and her daughters Sophie and Svetlana, traveling on a yacht currently passing through the canal, apparently sent on a world cruise when their husband/father had gotten fed up with the trio's public debaucheries, the scandal of Odessan society. There were arrests for public indecency in half a dozen countries, drug possession, one arrest for prostitution, all charges eventually dropped. Perfect. Rafael Quinones liked fresh meat, but that didn't mean he liked virgins. The Sokolovs would do nicely.

He looked back at the waiting manager, "Send Miguel and Leon over with champagne for the ladies and invite them to join me."

Letting the anticipation build he watched as his so very pretty dancing boys stalked his prey like the hunting dogs they were, he watched them flirt with daughters but pay court to the mother, good boys, he thought, no doubt she makes the decisions. Things were going well, Mother Russia turned and raised her glass to his window, the little group seemed to be gathering themselves to move… and something went wrong. The one-eyed minder came forward and whispered in the shorter daughter's ear, and nodded toward the far corner of the room. The girl turned and looked and apparently saw someone she recognized, she spoke briefly to her mother who was none too pleased. The daughter, Sophie it would be, shrugged and turned and began making her way rather quickly through the crowd.

_Damn,_ Quinones thought as Sophie disappeared. At the least the others hadn't followed after, and Svetlana was a stunner, but the idea of a mother and two daughters had touched his imagination and now anything less would be a disappointment.

And then almost as quickly as she had left she was coming back, sliding through the crowd, returning to the bar she fluffed her hair and nodded she was ready and the little party started to move again. Rafael Quinones checked himself in the mirror, and prepared to meet his guests, praying they would be as beautiful in person as they appeared at a distance.

And they were. And beyond. He could feel the tall one, Svetlana's eyes on him, cooly assessing him and favoring him with a slight yet promising smile. The shorter girl was practically licking her lips, her eyes bright with mischief, and Mother… Mother had eyes full of sin. She came toward him, spoke softly in his ear.

"Do you know what I like?" she asked rhetorically. "I like to get high…"

Quinones felt a touch of disappointment, but he smiled, said, "I'm sure we can accommodate such a beautiful lady, what would you like…."

"No, no," she shook her finger gently in his face, "not what. Where. High places. Cliffs. Rooftops. I like to stand naked and lean over the edge and look down on the world while a strong man holds my arms behind my back and fucks me, with the stars above me and the city lights below. It is like flying. It is the best feeling in the world. Do you know any place like that where we could go?"

"Miguel says you own bank," Svetlana whispered in his other ear, "if one is to be fucked in Panama, one should be fucked on bank, yes?"

Ohmigod, Quinones thought, this is manna from heaven. This will be a night to remember for the rest of my life.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Apparently because it was going to be the rest of his life.

He wasn't quite sure how it happened. He wasn't a stupid man. He didn't just run off alone with three women of shady character and swing open the vault. He'd taken Miguel and Leon. He'd taken his own group of three bodyguards. He'd insisted that the ladies' minders leave their guns with the bank security.

He'd insisted the ladies leave their guns too. Oh, that had been a delicious moment, the ladies with their wicked grins, teasing, pulling up their skirts just enough to remove the two automatics and Sophie's dagger. He'd seen the looks on the guard's faces, practically green with envy, he knew there'd be talk in the lockers, of what a lucky sunuvabitch the boss was, you should seen the fine and wicked tail he had with him… It was good for the image. They'd got on the executive elevator, Svetlana had pushed the button for the floor his office was on. He'd known then, really, this was a set-up. But still, six men, five armed, against two unarmed men and three women.

And a fight that lasted thirty seconds. By the time the elevator opened his men were out and he was gasping with pain and riding on Sophie's shoulder like a sack of rice. And then things really got ugly.

It was funny, Rafael Quinones thought, the thing that stuck in his mind was the pure disgust in Svetlana's, or whatever her name was, face. She _hated_ him.

What did I do? he wondered. I am a man. I have desires. I treat women well. I don't beat them… I buy them but only when they are for sale. We have fun, I pay, we play, they go away, no harm no foul. Why should she hate me?

She's the one who screwed me, here. She was the one who punched out poor Miguel who never hurt a soul.

Mother Russia had patted him sympathetically on the cheek, Sophie (or whatever the hell) had tied him and forgot him, but Svetlana….

What did it matter. They'd taken his passcard, they'd taken his passwords, because the old minder with a knife in his hand was fucking scary. He'd told them what they wanted to know. They got on his computer, got on the phone with someone named Marshall and suddenly there was a ghost in the building, doors were opening, doors were shutting, security was trapped on the lower floors. And now they were heading off to the private vaults.

Well, he would have his revenge at least. They didn't ask so he didn't tell. They would open the _Abraxas_ vault. There should be no way but somehow he knew they would find one. They would open it and that…. _Thing_ would be there.

And it would kill them. Sad, all that pretty pretty flesh ripped to shreds. But only fair.

Since Rafael himself was a dead man. A little hacker trouble was one thing. But this. Falling for a honey trap and throwing the doors open wide. He knew his clients. He knew that sometimes you just had to shoot your banker out of principle. To make a point.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Except now they were coming back into his office, and now Rafael knew something about "Sophie." She was not now and had never been a Russian. East coast American if he was any judge of accents and part sailor if he was any judge of profanity. He also knew she still looked pretty good wearing the one-eyed minder's coat over her shredded dress.

"Babe, calm down," the minder was saying, "you want, we'll get you another in the morning."

"You, you little prick," she said, coming over stare at Quinones, "just forgot to mention there was fucking _Garnick _demon in the vault, did you? And if you say I didn't ask I'm gonna make you eat this dress. May anyway," she said, "just getting in the way now." She pulled the sad rags off with a ripping sound, looked at his mouth a moment in speculation, then began wiping at the green substance that Quinones now saw coated her right leg. Quinones took in the view as her coat swung open.

'Sophie' began to laugh, she said, "Hey, Xan, look at this guy, he's tied to a chair, he knows if we don't kill him his bosses will, and he's checking me out."

"Man's got priorities," the minder said. The rest of the group came in then, looking, to Quinones at least, just a little shaken. Svetlana was carrying a tube made up of what looked liked rolled up blueprints, Mother Russia and the old minder were carrying bags of cash.

"Mr. Quinones, how often is that vault usually opened?" Mother Russia asked.

"Once, maybe twice a year."

"So it might be some time before anyone notices what is missing, right?"

"Yes. Unless you set off an alarm, which you did."

"Do you have a death wish, Mr. Quinones?" she asked.

"No," he said quickly. "But you still probably set off an alarm."

"Call home," she told the minder, "see if you-know-who can cover our tracks."

"He can try. No guarantee," the one-eyed man reported.

"So," Mother Russia said, "here's your choices, Mr. Quinones. You can call your clients and tell them what happened. Or you can bluff it out. Tell them there was a failed attack, or a drill, or the extra security you hired tripped an alarm, whatever. Bluff it out for a week, maybe two, Mr. Quinones, and you're home free." She turned back to the others, "Are we ready?" She lingered then, waiting until the others had left the office, then spoke softly, again with the throaty Russian accent that had got him in trouble in the first place, "My name is Irina Derevko, " she said, "and if you survive this, you owe me, understood? If you don't, then, well, never mind."

"Wait," he called, "How did you survive that … thing?"

Derevko smiled, "Hell hath no fury like woman who's new dress is torn."

_"What?_" he asked, but she was gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You're going to have to push me," Harris said.

"What?" Sydney turned and stared. They were on the roof of the _Banco Puente_ building, looking across the street at their hotel. Faith had already thrown the javelin with the cable attached right into the X Syd's father had painted on the wall above their balcony. Faith had hooked on her harness and rode the zipline down to land easily, her mother had followed and now as Harris stepped up to take his turn he'd asked Syd to push him.

"Look, don't tell Faith, all right? Heights, not my favorite thing. I'm hooked in, see? I'll be good once I'm moving but I have a little trouble with that first step."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." She pushed, and he rode the wire across the street and Faith caught him, eased him down, helped him unhook, he seemed steady enough on his feet.

"Well," her father said, "that was interesting."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

"Damn," Lauren Reed said, "we're out of ice cream. I'm going to run down to the store to get some. You want anything?"

"I'm good," Vaughn said.

Lindsey was waiting by the freezer.

"Well?"

"There's a …. third party working with Jack Bristow. They apparently have Marshall and are holding him hostage. Bristow believes he may have found a way to recover Sydney's memory. When that is accomplished Dixon and Weiss are planning an off the books mission to recover Sydney and I suggest we simply sit back and let them do it. When the time comes we can move in and blame the leak on Kendall or this third party…."

"What about Brazil….."

"A ruse. They must have known we were listening. But we can't let on we know that yet. Tomorrow, yell at everyone for missing the afternoon meeting but don't do anything. For now we wait. I have to go. Oh, and Robert," she stepped up close and pressed the muzzle of her automatic into his groin. "If Michael ever learns I talk to you I'll kill you myself. _Slowly._ Understood?" He nodded.

She got the Mayan chocolate for herself, the black walnut for Michael and just for the fun of it, a couple packages of miso soup.

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 17: Nothing but the Knife**


	18. Chapter 17: Nothing but the Knife

Chapter 17: Nothing but the Knife

A/N: See Prologue for disclaimers, warnings and _Alias _notes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**CORDELIA: **_What is it with you and Slayers? Maybe I should dress up as one and put a stake to your throat._

**XANDER:**_Please, God, don't let that be sarcasm._

_The golden frogs, especially the males, are known for their taste for the good life …The males happily hop on the backs of the much larger females, who carry them around for as long as 80 days searching for just the right spot to breed. All the while, the males gently set the mood by pressing the females' chests with callus-like "nuptial pads" on their thumbs. _

Washington Post Article on the endangered Golden Frogs of Panama **Manuel Roig-Franzia** Washington Post Foreign Service

Chapter 17: Nothing but the Knife

**PANAMA CITY**

At least, Faith thought as she finally managed to get the last of the demon blood off her leg, it wasn't the acid burning type of ichor 'cause that would have stung. As it was, well, she wouldn't have to shave that limb for a while.

Irina came in while she was dressing, pulling on the khaki cargos and a halter.

"Oh, Faith," Irina said, "I'm so sorry about your dress, I'm sure we'll have time tomorrow…"

"Hey, Irina," Faith interrupted, "it's no big, really. Look, don't take this the wrong way or nothing, I had a good time shopping, and I appreciate the advice and stuff. I really do. But the dress, it did what we got it for, yeah? What I'm really bummed about is that dagger we left downstairs. I mean it wasn't my favorite or anything, but, I dunno, I've had it for awhile, kinda got used to it, you know?"

"Oh, well, I just thought you might want… Mr. Harris certainly seemed to appreciate the effect."

"Yeah," Faith laughed, "But I don't need a two thousand dollar dress to make that boy drool. You gotta remember, we grew up weird, Xan especially on the hellmouth an all, I want to get him going a little _Gil Hibben_ is better than _La Perla_ any day. I got this one knife I left back in Cuba, it's this black tanto in a shoulder rig, strap goes between your tits so it works better if you put it on before the bra, yeah? So it's like a week after we hit Cuba and one night I'm starting to get ready to go on patrol and … well, thing is Xan comes in when I'm wearing nothing but the knife and, well, damn. Sometimes it's good to be the slayer."

"Well, be that as it may," Irina said, dropping a half-full shopping bag on the bed. "I was going to say you could use this to replace the dress, but it will buy a pretty dagger or two as well, I'm sure."

"What's that?"

"Your share of the cash we took from the vault."

"Oh." Faith stepped over the bed, looked in the bag…."_Holy Shit!_ Are those…" she pulled out a packet, flipped some bills, "They're hundreds, ain't they. All of them, that's….. fuck." She backed away. "Look, do me a favor, would you? Give that to Xan, wouldya?"

"Faith, seriously?" Irina said. "I divided it individually. I have another bag for Mr. Harris. Obviously you two have a … unique relationship but I wouldn't have thought…."

"It ain't that. If Dawnie was here I'd tell you to give it to her. Look. It's just… slayer robbing banks, there's too many ways that's gonna end badly, yeah?"

"Money is power, Faith. That vault belonged to, as I understand it, your enemies. It would have been stupid to leave it…."

"No, no, I'm not saying you should of left it. I'm just sayin'… it would be a bad habit for me to get into, yeah? I'm the slayer and the slayer slays, and one of the, wadyacallit, perks of being a slayer is that the watcher gets to deal with the funky stuff like this. Which is why he," she laughed, "gets the big bucks, yeah?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sydney left her father and Harris to the detail work of photographing the blueprints and the maps and sending them back to Marshall for analysis. She went out the balcony and leaned over, watched the desultory wee hour traffic.

Just for a little while, she'd been back in her world, where once again she asserted some control, had some power. Seducing and double-crossing men who deserved to be seduced and double-crossed. Bluffing past security, a good hand to hand fight with normal human beings. Breaking into security systems with Marshal in her ear, guiding every move. Finally, the big locked door with the vital mcguffin just inside….. she'd punched in the code, heard Marshall's triumphant whoop…. She'd started to open the door and was suddenly slammed back as the monster burst out, this big green thing all teeth and claws and a smell like refried death.

And she'd run. Not alone, her father had her arm, she had her mother's and they'd run without thinking, the horror instinctive. Then reaching a corner she'd glanced back and seen that Faith was fighting the thing hand to hand, or rather hand to claw.

She'd seen Faith slip and fall and roll, the slashing claw coming so close shreds of her dress sprayed into the air like fur in a catfight. The monster drew back for the killing blow and Harris had stepped in and jabbed the end of his stick into the thing's eye, taking a backhand blow for his trouble that sent him tumbling but gave Faith just enough time to regain her footing and charge again, sliding inside the claws, landing blow after blow on the thing's abdomen, the force of the impacts echoing down the hall, so intense Syd thought she could feel the vibrations in the walls.

Slammed against the wall the thing had lashed out and caught the side of Faith's head with a forearm, a desperate kick sent her flying into the vault door with force that would have broken a normal human in half. It had suddenly, if perhaps belatedly, occurred to Sydney that Faith could lose. This wasn't the toying with vampires and lopping off of heads she'd seen before, this was another level altogether.

Harris was back again, jabbing his stick at the demon, talking to it, deflecting a slashing claw with his stick, jabbing again and jumping back …. And then to Sydney's total disbelief he'd stuck his thumbs in his ears and waggled them and blown a raspberry. The monster apparently couldn't believe it either and turned to stare a moment and then Faith hit it over the head with a chair. Harris had tossed her his stick and Faith had lunged and driven the shaft deep into the stunned and now screaming demon's chest. She'd pulled back, thrust again, and again until finally the thing sagged and fell over, the impact of the fall sending a last spurt of green liguid to coat Faith's leg, leading in turn to an impressive eruption of profanity.

Harris had checked her over then, a quick and practiced survey to determine the absence of injury, then shucked his coat off and draped it over her shoulders, turned to see if the Bristows were all right.

Marshall too had been screaming, his voice tinny on the cell phone earplug dangling from Syd's chest, she put it back in place, said, "We're fine Marshall."

But she wasn't.

"Maybe we should quit this," she said as her Mother came out to join her on the balcony. "I'm being selfish. I've got an idea what happened in those two years. Maybe I don't need the details. Not if it means Faith getting killed. Or Dixon, Vaughn and the others ruining their careers."

"You were hoping your memory was in that vault," Irina said.

"Yes."

"I think it's too late to turn back, Sydney. Faith and Mr. Harris are going ahead with or without us, and I think as long as Marshall is useful they're going to hang on to him… Come on, they're done transmitting and just to be careful we're going to change hotels…. I need you to help me convince Faith that the _Hotel California_ doesn't really suit our needs…"

"And she wants the _Hotel California_ because…"

"Of the name, of course."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

"What is this, some kind of Jurassic Park thing? I mean, these cages with all the reinforced steel and electrified fences ….. it's like a maximum security prison for elephants," Marshall said, looking at Dawn. "And what the hell was that we heard over the phone, I know Syd said it was a guard dog in the hall... but that didn't sound like any guard dog I've ever heard…. In fact, I did a little voice-analysis thing, and those sounds didn't match any in the database and I've got everything from a poodle to howler monkeys to Mariah Carey in here."

"Marshall," Dawn said, "you know that thing you say, 'I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you?' Trust me, you don't want to know. Just help me figure how to break into this place."

"Well, that's the thing," Marshall said. You see here, they have this one set of servers they use to access the internet, through a satellite, see the dish there? But they completely isolated that room, it's even got it's own generator. Now over here they have the main computers for the complex. But there's no way to access them except on site. Which is smart. It's the only way you can be really be secure. Though I guess you know that. So, really the only way I can help you there is if I'm actually onsite….."

"What!" Carrie said. "I don't think so. Dawn…"

"No, don't worry, Carrie, we'll find another way. Marshall, you just help me understand these blueprints. We're looking for some kind of secure vault area. We need to look for defensive emplacements…. Look at it this way, say you were going to attack this place with twenty paladins and a wizard, what would you do?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Cool."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eric Weiss struggled for consciousness. Someone was in his bedroom, singing. He managed to unstick one eye and peer over--- it was his new purple cellphone, the one Dawn had given him. It was singing John Philip Sousa….

_Be kind to your web-footed friends For a duck may be somebody's mother …. _

That's just cruel at six in the morning, Weiss thought, reaching out and knocking the evil device onto the floor where it warbled…

_You may think that this is the end, Well it is, but to prove we're all liars, We're going to sing it again. Be kind…_

"What?" he grumped when he was finally able to capture and open the phone.

"Good morning, Mr. Weiss," said a vaguely familiar voice, "how are you enjoying your vacation so far?"

"My what?"

"Your vacay, holiday, free time with pay, want me to call back today after you've had some _café au lait_?"

"What? Yes. No. Wait. What?"

"This is Taariq, Mr. Weiss, Marshall's friend?"

"Oh, yes. What can I do for you?"

"Well, the lazybones brigade are all asleep but they wanted me to catch you before you left for work to tell you all about your vacation."

"I can't be on vacation, you have to put in weeks in advance…"

"And you did…. Look, it was Dawn and Marshall, I don't know how they do it, but they did it, okay? You're on vacation. If the computer says so, it must be true, right? Also, that little problem you had with that girl in Buenos Aires, totally off the record now. And I think you got a raise, and maybe even a promotion. They were going to make you director for South American operations or something like that but Carrie said that would attract too much attention, so if you have a complaint, take it up with her, okay? One more thing, then I gotta go, me an Tracy are making a donut run before Dwayne wakes up. You've got mail on the new account you guys set up. Be good, Mr. Weiss."

He took a shower. He called in on his usual phone and verified his vacation status. He had some coffee _sans lait._ He fired up his laptop and checked his new email, downloaded and decoded. He read the message. He spoke out loud,

"You've got to be kidding."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PANAMA CITY**

Sydney ran on the treadmill and watched her mother alternate yoga poses with rounds on the free weights, lifting the dumbbells with a quiet ferocity, counting off her reps, ten of this, ten of that, twenty of this and do it all again. Sydney wished again she'd gone off with Harris and Faith and wondered why she hadn't, wondered just what it was she was afraid she would miss if she left her mother's side for a few hours.

They finished their workout, took the elevator up to the room, "You know they say growing old is better than the alternative," her mother said, hunched over hands on knees as the lift rose, "but it's still a bitch." She reached out, put her hands on Syd's shoulder, "Enjoy this body while you can Syd. _Tempus fugit_ fucking faster every year."

After her shower Syd found her father methodically reading through a pile of the local newspapers, she stole _La Prensa _and took it with her out on the balcony but found herself gazing out across the bay at the line of ships waiting their turn at the canal. Maybe I could learn to live like this, she thought, morning workouts, leisurely meals at seaside, maybe find part-time job in a bookshop or a little magazine, just to keep busy. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

Mid-morning Harris and Faith came back, laden with purchases. Harris dropped a couple sacks of oranges and bananas on the table, Faith came bustling over to Syd all excited and kid sisterly,

"Look what Xan got me." She had a machete in a fancy hand tooled and brightly decorated scabbard, she pulled the blade out and whirled it around a couple times, "Xan says the steel's a lot better than the panga's in Africa and maybe it ain't a katana but it's still pretty damn effective if you keep it sharp. Plus since the scabbard is such a tourist thing, no one will think twice about me carrying it around in the streets. And," she said with a grin, reaching behind her and pulling a second machete out it's hiding place on her back, "we got you one too, you don't have to carry it around or anything, but you never know, huh?"

"Yes, thank you," Sydney said, wishing she could feel half as excited about it as Faith was. She appreciated a good weapon, but she didn't have quite the blade fetish Faith apparently did. Of course there was the my-man-bought-it-for-me factor. Syd could remember being quite pleased by the picture frame Vaughn had bought her. And seriously, a picture frame…lame, really.

"And check these out," out of nowhere Faith produced a pair of butterfly knives and began flipping them around like she was Edward Scissorhands on speed, "man, you can find all kinds of stuff in those streetmarkets, mostly crap but just let Xan jabber and point for while and suddenly they find the good stuff. These babies are fucking sharp, we know the guy to go to now, so if you want something we can go back later…."

Faith was having the time of her life, Sydney realized. And why the hell not, yeah, she'd just fought a nightmare monster. But she'd won. So, why not celebrate.

"And you," she told herself, "quit moping and get on with it."

She heard out Faith's mini-travelogue then went back to join her father and inspect the rest of the bounty from Harris' trip to the markets, more machetes in less fancy scabbards, rope, several multi-tools, flashlights and batteries and military surplus backpacks, mosquito nets, canteens, a coffee pot, Syd grinned thinking of the pair marching through the lobby of the five-star hotel so laden.

Harris and her father were in the midst of some sort of four or five way strategy session over the secure cell phones, arguing with Dawn and someone named Giles with occasional comment from a Will, Harris arguing for an immediate recon mission while the others all urged him to wait for backup arrangements, an argument Harris eventually lost. He paced back and forth a moment, grumbling to himself like Yosemite Sam, then paused, straightened, turned around with a grin,

_"Somos turistas, si?_ So, what do big time spies do on layovers, you say laundry you're gonna break a Bond fan's heart."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE NOT AT ALL NICE**

Will Tippin came awake as he felt rough hands on his shoulders, pulling him into a seated position on what felt like a folding chair. The familiar shape and texture of a newspaper was thrust into his hands and seeing no point in struggling over this detail he held it. He felt more than saw the flash through his blindfold. He could smell musty water, and rock.

He was lifted, turned, laid face down on a bumpy but polished surface and shoved forward about a body length. First his hands then his feet were released, the jump suit hed been dressed in was unzipped and pulled down over his legs leaving him naked on what felt like solid rock. He tried immediately to reach for his blindfold but the pain shot though his cramping limbs and he was forced to move slowly, letting the blood circulate again through pinched veins. There was an all-too-solid metallic clang behind him, and the sound of a heavy bolt.

He managed to pull the black cloth off his face but it did little good, the darkness inside the tight space was complete.

He heard murmuring voices, a sharp bark of laughter, then a grill slid open, letting in pale white light. Squirming in the tight confines he had a moment of panic as it seemed briefly that he was going to be stuck sideways but he managed to pulled his knee through and found if he sat in the half lotus and ducked down a little he could lean back against one side of his prison and turn his head to peer through the grill Sark looking back.

"Amazing thing," Sark said, "the capitalist system. If there is a need, demand, then inevitably there will be supply. I need to store a live human being, secure, but out of the way. Surprising really, how great a demand there is for that service. At a fairly reasonable fee I might add."

"Fuck you you fucking bastard," Will hissed, his throat dry and thick.

"Yes, well, I suppose I should feel the same were our positions reversed. Still, you should wish me luck. If I get what I want, then Sydney will come and collect you. If not, here," Sark glanced quickly around behind him, then slipped a thin Italian stiletto through the grill.

"A little token of my …. sympathy. Be careful, it's very sharp, and you'll want to keep it that way for when the time comes to use it. If it does. You're fortunate, for Sydney it's been only two, three months since you last saw each other, and she's been busy. No time really to let your absence really sink in and heal over. I think she will probably do her very best to save you, and her very best is quite good. Good-bye Mr. Tippin, I don't think we shall see each other again. But then, we've both thought that before, haven't we?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Weiss sat with Dixon in Jack Bristow's storage shed and compared assignments. They called Marshall who assured them that he and Carrie were fine, that he had raised all the same objections they had to the plan, and Dawn had told him not to worry.

"I don't like this, Marcus," Weiss said. "I keep running this thing over and over in my head, I keep ending up in a mish-mash of James Cameron movies, with the whole project blowing up, sinking, and we're all eaten by fish. There's something fundamental we're missing, here Marcus. One bit of information and it would fall into place."

"I don't know," Dixon said, "you're the magician, what's the key to all your tricks?"

"Incredible skill and dexterity… no, not really, huh. Misdirection, of course. What, you think this whole things is a distraction, like the Brazil thing? You think they're trying to get us out of the way? Use us as bait?"

"I don't know. I just …. I was fooled a long time by SD-6. And I've come to realize that I was at least an equal partner to that deception. I wanted it to be true, that I was CIA agent working for a safer world. Looking back I realize I ignored clues because the possibility that it was all a lie was just too painful to contemplate…. "

"Your point?"

"Dawn. The hippie, the carrot cake, the goofy girls with the kung fu grip. It's too… good to be true, someone's trying to paint us a picture, to seduce us."

"I don't know, Marcus, why would anyone go that kind of length…"

"Kendall may be a bit high-handed and secretive… but, well, in this business, who isn't? The DSR may be a bit odd but it's still a US government agency. And here we are planning an assault on a US government owned secure facility. And why? Because a little girl who thinks the CIA is, how did she put it, 'slimeball fascist enforcers of the corporate robber barons', told us there's _evil _in the woods."

"You think this is some kind of … terrorist attack. On a secret base in the jungle? You think the Bristows are in on it? I know Jack can be… ruthless but I really don't see him turning terrorist."

"No, but he's certainly capable of posing as one to save his daughter, to the point of carrying out an attack if Sydney's life was at stake."

"But you heard Sydney, she sounded okay…"

"Look, I love Sydney, but she's fooled me before, if there was a gun to her father's head….And with Irina Derevko involved, who knows what kind of pressure that could put her under. I know I sound paranoid but….."

"No, no, I get where you're coming from. It's just…. Maybe I'm just gullible, but I think if Dawn says there's evil in the woods, there's evil in the woods. I just don't know what kind…. So what are you going to do?"

"Oh, I'm going to play along. I'm going to do my share here. I'm just saying that when that last bit of information comes in, be ready for up to be down and left to be right…. And sweet little Dawn Summers to be something else entirely. I may be wrong. I hope I'm wrong. I'm just saying that if I'm not, don't let surprise be the thing that kills you."

Dixon stood, slapped Weiss on the shoulder, said, "See you in Panama."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PANAMA**

That first afternoon _Las Turistas_ left Jack and Irina at the hotel and took the bikes for a tour of the Panamanian countryside to the west of the city, Sydney bit by bit beginning to let herself enjoy the sheer pleasure of the movement, the feel of the wind in her face and the clean warm smell of the rural air. They returned to the city in the evening and joined her parents at _Las Bovedas,_ a french restaurant built in the remains of an old prison, looking out on the seawall where at one time prisoners were chained as punishment.

Syd enjoyed Faith's pleasure in introducing Xander to the joys of _bifteck au poivre avec pommes frites._ After a bit of Harris' good-natured badgering her father slowly relaxed enough to begin sharing a few war stories. Sydney found herself for the first time since she'd learned the truth about SD-6 calmly able to talk a bit about some of her early missions.

Her mother chimed in with some of the apparently apocryphal Scooby tales she had picked up in her researches that often had Faith and Xander roaring, although one or two seemed to touch points of sadness, which her mother quickly steered away from. Syd had no doubt her mother was learning a great deal from their responses, despite the fact that, except in one or two minor cases, Xander gently declined to reciprocate with his version of events. But it was a good-natured game and they closed the restaurant in a pleasant cameraderie that Sydney never wanted to have end.

In the morning she found out Xander and Faith had returned to the _Casca Viejo_ neighborhood and taken out a vamp nest Faith had sensed as they'd left the restaurant.

"We'd have invited you along," Xander said, "but you were a little too mellow. Maybe tonight?"

They spent the second vacay day diving off the Pearl Islands, Syd discovered that her mother was wonderfully agile and playful underwater as they chased fish together along the reef. While the others were down they sat on on the gunnell and chatted,

"How are you, Sydney?" her mother asked. "You seemed a little down before, but it's better now, yes?"

"Yes." They talked a bit about Vaughn, about Nate, the man she'd inadvertently killed after thinking seriously about running away with him. She even talked a little about Danny. Her mother put her arm around her shoulders,

"You poor thing," she said gently, "I'm so sorry," which seemed silly but somehow made her feel … better.

"What about you and Dad," she asked, "after this is over?"

"I don't know, Sydney, we have such different lives now. The US government still wants to kill me…" She paused. "But whatever happens, Sydney, this time, it's like in _Casablanca,_ when Bogart says tell Bergman they got Paris back. It's like that. We've got a little of the good times back, when you were so young. Whatever happens it's been worth it for that."

In the evening they ate Chinese, in the middle of the meal Faith suddenly sat up straight, whispered something in Xander's ear and disappeared into the kitchens and came back fifteen minutes later grinning like a cheshire cat full of canary, but refusing to share, just saying,

"You'll see."

At Faith's insistence they went for drinks at _La Casona de las Brujas,_ another nightspot sprung out the ruins of the crumbling french architecture of the _Casca Viejo, _they passed through the flashing neon and and the electronic rhythms and out the other side and down a narrow winding stairs where Faith began feeling around, then finding another magically hidden stairway.

Sydney felt her back stiffen and her blood chill, terribly disappointed, the last thing she wanted was another interlude in a demon bar but Faith seemed to sense her displeasure, looked back and reassured her this would be something different.

She could hear music again as they descended, a voice singing a bit of classic Louis Prima, the joyous melody belying the sad words,

_" I'm just a gigolo, everywhere I go, people know the part I'm playing…"_

At the bottom of the stairs they checked their weapons, the stoic clerk storing away Faith's and Xanders knives and stakes, the Bristow's automatics. The clerk looked at her mother and sighed wearily and after a moment her mother smiled and reached back and removed the dagger and it's sheath in the small of her back and handed it over.

_"And there will come a day, And youth will pass away…."_

They rounded the corner and saw first the welcoming sign and beyond it the large room and the tables with all manner of man beast and creature nodding their heads or tapping their feet, claws, or tentacles to the happy beat,

_"Cause I aint got nobody, oh and there's nobody cares for me…"_

"You must be joking," her father said, "_Karaoke?_"

_"Won't some sweet mamma, come and take a chance with me, cause I aint so bad …"_

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 18: Into the Woods**


	19. Chapter 18: Into the Woods

Chapter 18: Into the Woods

**A/N:** See Prologue for Disclaimer, Warnings, _Alias_ notes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Yet it is not consciousness that governs the world, nor even ideology, nor religious principle nor national temperament. It is custom that rules the roost. In Colombia it is the custom to do murder and violence. In a period of ten years some 200,000 people were said to have been killed by acts of more or less private violence. Yet I found the Colombians at least as hospitable, honorable and humane as the Argentines, whose custom is merely to cheat..._ **Jupiter's Travels;** _Ted Simon_

**Sydney:** _No, you don't. You get to tell your friends that you work for the CIA while I go home and look desperately for a tiny moment that I can be honest with anyone about anything. Now that Will knows the truth - he's never going to trust me again. You should have seen his face in Paris. It was like he was looking at a stranger. _

**Chapter 18: Into the Woods**

**PANAMA CITY**

The suit. The suit was something else. It was yellow. Bright, primary yellow and it glowed as if electric and it pulled at Syd's eyes so hard she almost didn't notice that the man… well, _mannish thing_ wearing it was green, with deep red eyes and discreet little rust red horns. He finished his song and came bustling over to their table to give Faith a big hug and call her 'Princess,' which was something, Syd guessed, that didn't happen all that often.

"So," the green man said, "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine…."

"Not to worry, Lorne, just passing through on a little business, heard the word in the street there was bar called _Caritas,_ had to see it if was you."

"It's okay, Princess, I may be out of the big drama, but I'm here if you need me. Now, tell me, who's the lucky guy giving you the happy glow?" and Faith grinned almost shyly and turned to introduce Xander who was standing, reaching out to shake hands, saying,

"Lorne, it's good to finally meet you. I don't sing. Ever."

Faith did the remaining honors, introducing her mother, then father, then Syd. Syd reached out to shake his hand which she found, a little to her surprise, to be warm, dry and soft…but firm as he held hers, looking at her intently for moment, said,

"Well, we'll spare ourselves the musical stylings of Scarface there, but you, my dear … I sense a performer, a true artiste…."

"Oh no, not me…."

"Oh, don't worry, we'll get a few drinks down you first but I'm gonna need a couple high notes to see through the chiaroscuro of an aura you've got there, sweetcheeks. So, what's everybody drinking?"

"It's okay," Faith told the Bristows, "you can have blood and yak bile if you want it, but you don't have to. I'm betting the sea breeze here is…"

"To die for," Lorne supplied.

"What did he mean, 'high notes to see through my aura'?" Syd asked as Lorne went off calling for a waiter.

"Lorne is sort of mystic _Dear Abby_," Faith explained, "when you sing he kind of reads, not your future, really, but like, your possible future. He calls it putting you on your path. Sometimes he's really specific, like, take your umbrella on Tuesday, sometime he's more with the cryptic. You should sing."

Jack had a scotch, but it was sea breezes all around for the rest, and they were good. And sneaky, Sydney thought, her reactions slowed enough that as just after she finished her second Lorne broke off reminiscing with Faith and overrode her weakened objections and hustled her up on to the stage, just as a feline faced demon purred out the final lines of Bob Seger's 'Night Moves,'

_"When you just don't seem to have as much to lose, Strange how the night moves, With autumn closing in…"_

Lorne took the mike,

"That was the hepcat himself Chernyk the Silent, giving you that old time rock'n'roll, now while I have a few words with my wide-whiskered friend give a big warm isthmus welcome to Sydney Bristow who wants you to come to the cabaret…."

She took the mike in a sweaty palm, feeling her heart beating ridiculously fast, she saw the words scrawling into place on the machine and the band started up and played the intro and when she missed it they went round again without missing a beat, come on, she told herself, you've done this before, you can do this, it's just another role, and if you miss a few notes, so what?

She took a deep breath and caught the rhythm and joined in as the band hit the first line,

_"What good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play. Life is a Cabaret, old chum, Come to the Cabaret…" _

She saw her father smiling and her mother nodding her head, mouthing the words along with her as she sang,

_"No use permitting, some prophet of doom, To wipe every smile away." _

She glanced over at Lorne and saw him staring intently and she quickly looked away, stared down at the scrolling words and tried to relax and let the song take over, stumbling a little over a few lines, fighting a sudden need to laugh as she sang,

_"But when I saw her laid out like a Queen, She was the happiest... corpse... I'd ever seen." _

But she managed, and caught a little bit of a second wind and finished strong,

_"Start by admitting, From cradle to tomb, Isn't that long a stay. Life is a Cabaret, old chum, Come to the Cabaret…" _

Lorne joined her for the last two lines and presented her to the audience, and Syd felt herself blushing at the enthusiastic applause.

"Okay now," Lorne said, "give it up for Sydney Bristow, belting it out like trouper… I'm going to whisper a few words in long, lean and lovely's' shell-like, meanwhile Victor the Vorshark is going to tell you what life is like under the sea…."

"Oh my," Lorne said, taking her arm and leading her gently off to one side, clear of any occupied tables, "you are Daddy's Big Girl, aren't you? You have had a time. Someday you'll have to let me tell you about _my_ family. So. The good news, you're heading for the mouth of the river and smooth sailing with the tide, the bad news is you've got some class six whitewater to get through to reach the other side. Now you've got a big fight coming up, but you're a professional, and you're working with the best, so I've got nothing really to add there. As to the more personal peril, I can tell you two things; when you get to the point where you just can't believe what is happening, _believe it._ And secondly, and sorry for the cliché, but, _to thine ownself be true._ You have a good heart, Sydney. Follow it. But don't be afraid to take care of number one. And you've got some nice pipes, girl, you come back and sing anytime." And he clapped her on the back and guided her back to the table.

"Don't worry, " Faith said when she saw her face, "when the time comes, you'll understand. Sometimes you understand just a little too late, but usually you understand just in time."

Then Faith got up, went to join Lorne at the bar for awhile, Harris excused himself to go join a …. half mountainman, half-lizard sort of thing sitting alone at a corner table, where he entered into what appeared to be some sort of negotiation. Her mother asked Syd what Lorne had said,

"Oh just some stuff about having to get through rapids before reaching the calm of the sea, I'm thinking not all demons are as magic as maybe they want to appear to be," and wondered why she was lying to her mother, because in her heart she believed Lorne was for real.

Then Faith came back and sat beside her, said softly, "Okay, last time, then I'll give up and stay out of your business, but see the fellow on the end of the bar there, tan jacket, nice ass? Lorne says he's decent guy, good aura, regular, ladies man but not a player, not someone who's gonna go psycho on you….wait, you haven't heard the good part yet. He's part squamous demon on his mother's side, and he's got an eight inch prehensile tongue. Now, no promises, but I noticed he was pretty into you while you were singing there, so I figure he's yours if you want him. But hey, if you'd rather, you can go vamp hunting with me and Xan or home to bed with Mom and Dad, up to you. I've done what I can."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE NOT AT ALL NICE**

It was some sort of meat and vegetable stew, still warm even, in a card board container, like one of the ten-for-ten-dollars dinners in the freezer at his local grocery store. It wasn't exactly haute cuisine, but it wasn't the maggoty mush he'd been expecting either. There was a small plastic bottle of water to go with it. Tippin tried to pace himself, but the first taste awakened the fierce hunger he'd managed to push to the back of his mind, and he ate ravenously and drank all the water.

Time passed.

The grill opened and the unseen attendant held up a plastic garbage bag and Tippin tossed out the cardboard container.

_"Flasche." _

Tippin pretended not to understand. "What?"

_"Flasche," _the attendant repeated, "bottle."

He tossed the bottle out and the grill was slammed closed. He heard the wheel on the attendant's cart squeak as he started to move, then a metallic impact that rattled his cage door, and a brief curse. And then the wheels started squeaking again, moving away. And stopped. He heard another grill opened and shut, a third, a fourth, and then silence.

He felt the panic start to rise, the claustrophobia, he was fucking buried alive, he could feel the weight of the tons and tons of rock above him, he knew they would forget that he was here, Sydney would never even know…

He closed his eyes. It was stupid, but somehow the total blackness wasn't so bad with his eyes closed. He calmed himself, counted backward from one hundred and got to sixty-five before he was bored.

There was sort of comforting efficiency about the cardboard container and the garbage bag. Good German efficiency, he thought. They would not forget him, whoever they were.

He thought about Sydney, wondered if she was really alive. If so, had she been part of faking her death? She must have been. Had she thought it better not to tell him, that it would make it easier for him to enter witness protection? He had no idea. It was a little hard on the ego but he had to admit now, he'd never really known her. Not at all.

But, she must care about me, he thought, why else would I be of any value to Sark? Of course, Sark could be mistaken.

This was worse than counting. What he wouldn't give to stand up. To just sit up straight. He rolled over on his stomach, came up in a half-crouch and inspected the door again. He already been over the hinges umpteen times and given up on his first thought of digging the bolts out with the stiletto Sark had left him. The bolts were welded into a steel plate, the knife would wear away long before they would. He'd noticed the slight rattle when attendant had bumped his cart into it. He pushed against the door.

_Light. _Just the glimmer, a slight crack running vertically along one edge of the door. He squeezed his face into the corner. He could see out. Sort of. A bit of light, the hint of another wall. It was nothing.

It was light. He could see that the door was held shut by a single lever, bolt, piece of steel, a line of darkness against his lovely little thread of light. He tried to slip the knife into the crack, it went a little, just the very tip reaching through, touching the bolt. He twisted the knife. The bolt moved. Just a little. Just one one thousandth of an inch. Or, you know, half that. But it moved.

It wasn't like he had anything else to do.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ON THE PANAMERICAN HIGHWAY, EAST OF PANAMA CITY**

At Irina's suggestion, she Syd and Faith had spent Friday at the Gamboa Rainforest Resort, getting wrapped in seaweed and hosed down with water that stank of slightly rotten oranges, getting scented mud smeared on their bodies and eating crustless veggie sandwiches while the mud cracked and dried.

Faith still couldn't figure Irina out. Faith had offered to stay back and help Xan and Jack get the bikes ready while Irina and Syd did the mother daughter thing but both had genuinely seemed to want her to come. So whathehell, she'd never had a "spa day" and she figured she'd try anything once.

Still, she couldn't quite figure it, maybe Irina, a tough broad who'd come up the hard way saw something of herself in Faith and wanted to pass along her hard-won knowledge. Maybe she just liked teaching, Syd had said her cover had been as a professor, back in the day. Maybe she just wanted to show off, though she didn't really give off that vibe.

Maybe she was just waiting for that inevitable moment when Faith got fed up with all the girly-girly and lit up a stogie on the verandah to the horror of the attendants and other guests.

Most likely, she thought, she was storing up goodwill for some favor down the line, though what she could want from Faith she wasn't already getting, Faith didn't know. And sorry, but six kinds of hot bath and a faceful of cucumbers didn't buy that much in the way of favors owed, no matter how absurdly expensive.

Bright and early Saturday morning they headed east, toward Darien, on the Panamerican Highway where the mud was free. And knee deep in places. Faith waded in, got a grip and pulled Syd's bike out of the glutinous glop with a loud sucking pop, carried it forward 'til she found relatively solid ground and set it down, went back and ferried first Irina's then Jack's then her and Xander's motorcycles past the washout.

One thing Faith did notice and filed away for future consideration. She saw how both Irina and Syd could be all giggles and upraised pinky one day and the next they were wading unhesitatingly into the oily mud and riding bikes like pro's. Like B. could come off all ditzy blonde and then kick some beast's kidney out it's left nostril before it knew what happened. Faith had always been pretty much, 'here I am, deal with it,' and she wasn't sure that could ever change, or if she wanted it too. But it was something to think about on the way to the next mudhole.

"We're not teleporting why?" she asked Xander at the fourth or fifth motorcycle eating mire.

"Will says they have a magical shield up, if we tried to teleport through we might end up thirty feet wide and three inches tall. Or like The Fly, _'help me, help me,'"_ he falsettoed. "Besides, you probably need a little exercise out in the good clean mud after all that girly stuff you did yesterday."

"You mean when we went and paid somebody fifty bucks to put mud on our faces?" Faith laughed, "I don't know how women can lay still like that, for like hours. But I tell ya, you learn some of that swedish massage stuff and it could pay off big time. We ready?" she said, looking around at the Bristows, and the engines started up again, and with a spray of dirty water Syd took off and the others followed and made it two more miles before Faith turned mule again. Around mid-morning it started to rain.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PANAMA CITY**

Dixon leaned against the truck and waited as the old DC-3 taxied to a stop and a slightly frazzled and befuddled looking Eric Weiss appeared in the cargo door flanked by two grinning girls who peered curiously out, eased past and dropped lightly to the tarmac. Followed by two more girls. And two more. Dixon counted sixteen altogether, most dressed in shorts and brightly colored halters or tee-shirts although a couple of the older girls, for older reading early twenties at most, were dressed more sensibly in khaki camos.

Dixon looked at Weiss. Weiss shrugged.

"Meet the crack troops," he said. Another young woman appeared, behind him, she called out,

"Hey, Mr. Dixon."

"Ms. Summers," Dixon responded politely.

"That our truck, Mr. Dixon?" Dawn asked and he nodded, "Hey, you guys," she yelled at the girls, "unload now, explore exotic Panama later, okay?"

And the next thing Dixon knew four of the girls had leaped back up into the plane and crates began to fly out of the cargo door to be caught and passed along and loaded on his truck like they were foam rubber bricks and ten minutes later they were done. Dixon climbed into driver's side of the truck and Dawn called shotgun.

Another girl piled in the cab with her. So Weiss found himself in the back of the truck with fifteen very attractive and excited girls, he the stamen to their petals as they gathered round him, peering out past the canvas flaps that covered the rear of the vehicle. They were barraging him with questions about Panama and his experiences with travel in the tropics, for a moment he felt overwhelmed once again. And then he thought, the hell with it, and let himself relax. Let Dixon be the freaked and worried professional for awhile. He, Eric Weiss, was just going to enjoy the ride, after all, the idea of secret missions in attractive company was the reason he'd joined the CIA in the first place. He'd just been going through the motions for some time now and the hell with that, he, Eric Weiss, was going to have some fun for a change. He was, after all, on vacation.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**LOS ANGELES**

"I should have gone with them," Vaughn said.

"Michael," Lauren said, rubbing his tense shoulders, "I know you wanted to but some one needs to stay here and watch their back from this end. I can't do it alone. You know people I don't, you know Jack. More important, Jack knows you. At some point, for this to all work out, they're going to need someone here at the office, with access. Sydney's going to need to know what Lindsey is up to, Sydney is going to need someone on the inside she can trust. And that has to be you."

"I know, I know," Vaughn sighed. "I just hate the waiting."

"Well, look at it this way," Lauren said, "at least you're not in a swamp in Brazil, waiting where no one is coming. Ever."

"Lindsey hasn't called them back?"

"No. And I can't do it without raising questions. And that is why field agents really really need friends in the office, right?"

"Okay, okay," Vaughn laughed, "point taken."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**YAVIZA, DARIEN PROVINCE, PANAMA**

They arrived in the late afternoon, after one of the longest one hundred and fifty mile drives Syd had ever made. Yaviza was a town out of Clint Eastwood movie, or would have been if the Man with No Name had hung out in the soggy rainforest instead of the dry Spanish desert. Or, Sydney thought, it reminded her the miserable nowhere town from Clouzot's _"Wages of Fear." _Though here there was less clapboard and more thatch roofs with open walls to let what breeze there was circulate. But there was that same air of desperation, despair and impending violence.

Not that they looked so much like movie stars themselves, covered head to foot in mud, like golems summoned from the swamps to wreak revenge and having made a wrong turn somewhere.

They left Jack to deal with the two cops who approached them as they parked in front of the first half-way promising looking bar. Sydney was very much aware of the slight stirrings on open porches, behind the breeze-block windows, the shifting of little groups of thuggish men lounging in the heat, all watching the newcomers. This was Columbian drug-running territory, home to refugees and failed outlaws secure in the knowledge that no cop would coming looking for them here, although it was also the hunting grounds for the Columbian death squads who were not that discriminating in their choice of victims. No Robert Vesco's here.

The lone wall at the back of the otherwise open bar featured murals of not great but some talent, the artist having taken "Naked women," as his theme and beyond a few desultory bottles and palms, had stuck to it. In the corner two ravaged looking women in shapeless red dresses, who bore only a rudimentary resemblance to the voluptuous images on the wall, looked up briefly from a game of checkers and then ignored them. Syd, her mother, and Faith pulled off their mud coated helmets and revealed their age and gender and Harris said,

"Crap. I was hoping they'd at least let us have a beer or two in peace," as one group of men immediately, if not quickly, because no one did anything quickly in the soggy heat, began to stir. They stood, adjusted the machetes and pistols hanging from their belts, a couple of the men had shotguns hanging over their shoulders, one had an AK. They started sidling toward the bar. The two women in red dresses stood and slunk quietly away.

Harris rapped his stick twice firmly on the bar and an old man, proud owner of two gold teeth and one silver, appeared and began distributing green bottles of _Panama_ beer, took the cash Harris gave him and scuttled away into the building's dim interior.

The men eased into the bar, obviously a little puzzled by the indifference with which the lost gringos were treating their entrance. Their leader was relatively tall man, perhaps as much as six feet, the others considerably shorter, with the slightly washed out look that came with too much time in the rain and not quite enough to eat. Scrawny, but with a tightness to their muscles suggesting a wiry strength.

Syd glanced over at Harris and saw the look of resigned annoyance on his face, looked down and saw the slight grin on Faith's, felt her own adrenaline level slowly rising. This, she thought, was going to be fun.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PANAMA CITY**

"They want what?" Dixon said.

"They want to go over the Bridge of the Americas and they want to see the locks. And they want to buy some more oranges and bananas cause the ones we got before are already gone," Dawn said. "And don't tell me we don't have time cause it'll only take an hour, maybe two, and I know we loaded that boat a lot faster than you thought we would."

"C'mon, Marcus," Weiss said. "It'll be fun."

**-30-**

**NEXT: Chapter 19: Beware the White-lipped Peccary**


	20. Chp 19: Beware the Whitelipped Peccary

Chapter 19: Beware the White-lipped Peccary

**A/N**: For disclaimers, warnings, _Alias_ notes, see prologue.

_It was jolly in the country. A cow and little pigs to play with and milk warm from the cow. _  
**Georg Brandes**

**Chapter 19: Beware the White-lipped Peccary**

**YAVIZA, DARIEN PROVINCE, PANAMA**

Jack Bristow left the two cops counting their, by Jack's standards, miniscule windfall, and squelched the two muddy blocks to the bar where the motorcycles were parked. He decided, not for the first time, that he much preferred the desert to the jungle. Still it had been good to get out and deal with mundane things like clogged air filters and a slippery clutch and adjust again to the fact that the night before last he'd had a pleasant evening in a karaoke bar, something he would never have believed possible. Without even considering the fact that he'd had a agreeable conversation with a six foot tall cat who could talk knowledgeably about classic rock and New Orleans Jazz as well as Bach's fugues and cantatas. Jack had been secretly pleased to see his daughter's astonishment at his own knowledge on the subject. It was nice to know that, when they no longer had the latest mission to discuss they might still find things to talk about.

He'd seen her eyeing a man at the bar, and while the professional agent handler in him felt a little romp would do her good, he had been pleased that she had stayed. Whatever happened he doubted he, Irina and Sydney would ever have another time together like the last few days. Even with the mud and the bugs ahead he was grateful they hadn't quite reached the end of this interlude.

He reached the bar and started for the doorway, then hopped nimbly aside as the first man came flying through the open portal. Jack stepped inside, gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the relative dimness. He saw his daughter kick a man in the crotch, then slam a knee into his chin and drop the body.

He saw Harris behind the bar hold up a green beer bottle and raise his eyebrows in query. Jack nodded, reached up to grab a man's upraised fist and held it just long enough for Irina to deliver the _coup de grâce_ with a spring baton. Wincing, Jack walked on to the bar counter and took the beer Harris set before him. The younger man clicked a lighter and held it out, said,

"Rough day? Wanna talk about it?"

"What?" Jack said.

"Nothing. Just reliving the glory days. _Duck."_

Jack bent his head down and Harris reached up and caught the rifle that had been flung in his direction. He cleared the chamber it and set on the small pile of guns and machetes he had collected on the floor beside him. There was a sound like a slightly rotten grapefruit being thrown into a wall, a couple more similar impacts, sounds like a sack of potatoes falling on a wood floor. Then a couple moans, and silence. Harris opened three more beers and set them on the counter in a line.

Jack took a pull on his, it was nicely cold. There was that to be said for hard work in a hot country. It made the beer taste good.

"So, waddya think, Jack," Harris said, "we push on tonight or enjoy one of the fine hostelries here and hit it at first light?"

"Your guy?"

"Either waiting now or he's not coming."

"I'd say in the morning. If they have any kind of surveillance in place they must know we're coming. And if they don't, a few hours won't matter. We might as well start out with dry feet."

The girls bellied up to the bar, grabbed their beers,

"Anything to eat back there?" Faith said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ON THE GULF OF PANAMA, SSW OF PANAMA CITY**

"I wish to die now, please," Dawn said. Weiss laid another cold cloth on her forehead. "You're a spy, you have a cyanide pill, right? Can I borrow it, just for a little while?"

"Well, you could, " Weiss answered, "but see, it's in this tooth here I'd have to bite down and then we'd have to do this mouth to mouth thing… and well, I really think you should brush your teeth first. What with all the …."

"_Don't say it._ When I die, hopefully in the next ten minutes, I am going to the PTB and I'm going to tell them that I think it's totally unfair keys to the universe get seasick and Slayers don't. And then I'm going to poke them with a sharp stick. And kick them in the shins."

"The who and the what?" Weiss asked.

"What?"

"The key to the universe? Slayers?"

"What? I didn't say that. You must be delirious. Oh, God, bucket….bucket!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**YAVIZA, DARIEN PROVINCE, PANAMA**

"Hey," Faith said softly, sliding her arm around his waist. Just the barest hint of dawn light was showing outside the narrow window where Xander stood peering out.

"Hey," he answered.

"So, this time tomorrow we could be in the real shit, huh?"

"The realest."

"I was just thinking, it hasn't been that long. You and me. Maybe a month."

"Yes,"

"Seems longer. And I mean that in a good way."

"I know what you mean."

"I jus' wanna say, we get out to this thing alive…. Well, you and me, I won't fuck it up if you won't."

"I love you, too, babe," Xander said.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The motorcycles seemed unbearably loud in the pre-dawn streets, but they soon left the small town behind even though they were puttering slowly along on a winding local path as the trees grew taller and the jungle thicker around them. After about twenty minutes they came to fallen tree with a red bandanna tied to one limb. The motorcycles stopped and Xander slid off the back of the bike he shared with Faith and, waving for the others to wait, he followed the trunk toward the base of the tree and disappeared into the foliage. There was silence, but for the occasional birdcall, then the leaves began to shake and Xander returned accompanied by the mountainman he had been talking to the other night in the green demon's bar. …. Well, mountain_man,_ if you allowed for the tusks that framed his round face and the thick bristly hair that covered his body, visible now as he was wearing only canvas shorts and a pair of sandals made from discarded tires.

"This is Gregory," Harris said. "He'll be our guide. Gregory, this is Jack and Sydney Bristow, Irina Derevko, and of course, Faith. Shall we?"

They took their packs off the bikes, left the keys in the ignition on the off chance that reports of orange motorcycles heading elsewhere might add a little confusion. They followed Gregory for a few hundred feet sloping downward until they came to a pair of long thin dugout canoes waiting on a narrow river. Gregory oversaw the loading, then took the rear seat in the lead canoe with Faith and Harris, Sydney joined her parents in the second, taking the bow seat with her father in the rear and her mother in the middle. In near total silence, but for to the occasional spatter of water off a paddle they began to move.

As thin rays of sunlight began to touch the trees above them the jungle grew louder, mostly with the birds, occasional sounds of movement, a fish splash, a larger animal rushing away as the canoes disturbed a morning visit to the water. The jungle grew green as well as the light filtered down, gray turning vivid viridian, with spots of reds, whites and yellows, Sydney felt the sweat begin to trickle down her sternum, felt the air begin to steam.

One shrinking planet, Sydney thought, so many different worlds. This one was interesting. She swatted a mosquito. When this trip was over, assuming everyone survived, she was going to be glad she'd been. But on the whole, she decided, there was something to be said for the high-stakes infiltration of a nice comfortable embassy cocktail party or an air-conditioned nightclub.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**JAQUE, DARIEN PROVINCE, PANAMA**

She had SeaBands on her wrists, she had a little patch behind her left ear and she'd eaten half a gingerroot. And she felt better.

Only four people had said, "Hey, it's dawn, Dawn."

She stood on deck with Weiss as he pointed out the fishing boats coming out of the Bahia Piña, told her about the five-star fishing lodge nestled in the back of the bay and the sportfishing records, the Zane Grey reef.

Vi whispered "Guanabana _batido,_" in her ear and she didn't even feel a twinge of nausea.

Half an hour later she saw the spray and the roiling waters where the Rio Jaque met the sea.

"Gonna be a little rough going in, huh?" Dawn said.

"Yeah, I hear the waves at the mouth are big enough to surf."

"You better have Mr. Dixon warn the captain, then."

"I'm sure he knows, Dawn, we hired this guy cause he's made the trip before…"

"No, no, warn him about the girls, they're all gonna want to be riding right in the bow when we hit the worst of it."

They made it into the estuary with little problem, the captain eased the boat into an inlet where a rickety dock reached out into just deep enough water. Under Zoey's all-business supervision the girls began unloading.

Dixon took Caridad, a petite latina who spoke fluent Spanish, with him to pacify the local police. Her winning smile, he thought, would probably be all it took, but if neither that nor the wad of cash he carried did the trick she assured him she had other means.

Weiss took the other Spanish speaker, Marielle, and went to find a truck. They found a battered pick-up and woke the owner, and waved enough cash at him until he smiled widely and hurried to get the old engine started. Weiss had to hide his smile at the panic on the man's face as the machine balked and sputtered and he saw his windfall suddenly fading away. But finally it caught and grinning widely the man drove the truck down to the dock, where a small crowd had gathered.

Dawn thought it best to avoid having the girls make too ostentatious a display of strength and had Weiss hire a few men to load and unload the crates.

Within a couple hours they had set up the big camo tent off to the side of the small airstrip and laid out the crates in readiness. The girls disdained Dixon's MRE's and over-whelmed the local café, the owner urgently sending her children out foraging at the neighbors for additional eggs, meat and fruit.

"Okay, I understand now," Weiss told Dawn, "they're hybrid mutants, half human, half locust."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE IN THE DARIEN RAIN FOREST**

Gregory paused, held up a hand for silence, then grunted something barely audibly to Harris who turned and stage-whispered,

"Okay, everybody up a tree now, get around ten feet high, go."

They sat in their various perches, waited, after a little while they heard them, the rustling brush, the snuffling, then some seventy-five to a hundred or so large hairy pig-like creatures passed beneath them, trotting casually along, either unaware or indifferent to their presence. After they had passed Gregory dropped back down and they went on.

At mid-morning they had left the dugouts and begun to hike, Gregory leading, occasionally stepping aside and letting Faith or Sydney swing a machete and clear the way. They had made slow but steady progress.

At first they saw occasional sign of human presence. Trails, abandoned campsites, a couple not so abandoned but unoccupied-at-the-moment shelters,

"Poachers," Gregory tersely explained.

Then for awhile the signs of human activity dwindled, then disappeared completely, the forest grew quieter. At last they topped a small rise and Gregory pointed. Down through the brush they could just make out the lines and right angles of manufactured structures.

Gregory grunted, shook hands with Harris, turned and disappeared the way they'd come.

"Gregory says 'Good luck,'" Harris reported.

They moved back just over the crest of the hill, built themselves a rudimentary shelter inside a particularly dense thicket, rested, drank from their canteens and ate powerbars.

Then Sydney climbed a tree, and after taking a moment or two to marvel at what a different world it was in the brightly lit canopy, she set up the small satellite dish in the hopes that he cloud cover would dissipate enough to allow them to communicate with Marshall, and via Marshall, Dawn.

To Sydney's surprise, Faith let her take the lead as they scouted the compound. They saw buildings they recognized from the blueprints, but there was more. A high fence topped with razor wire encircled what was practically a small village, with circular thatch covered huts on stilts, gardens, and wire pens with pigs and chickens. A couple of armed guards sat on a platform overlooking the village, they seemed human at first but adjusting her binocs for higher resolution Sydney saw that they were covered in scales and held their AK's clumsily in sharp claws.

The villagers are probably Columbian refugees, Sydney thought, but why guard them so closely?

"Vamp food," Faith whispered, reading her mind, "only way to keep the blood fresh, yeah?"

Sydney shuddered.

When they returned to camp they found Jack and Irina had unpacked the c4 and the detonators and began to put the two together to make the bombs while Harris was cutting and stacking some y-shaped sticks.

He burned a little incense over the pile, opened a little notebook and read out some words in latin. Harris then walked around their little camp, planting y-shaped sticks in the ground and reading out of the notebook. This, he'd explained, would make their camp invisible for the night.

They all gathered round to hear the girls compare their observations to the blueprints they'd stolen from the bank. In addition to the village, a second, currently empty helipad had been added, a camouflage painted Huey rested on the other.

"They have a netting covering the opening in the canopy," Sydney explained, "on a system of pulleys and cables to open it, the control cables are here and here, there must be some kind of winch, but I didn't see it."

"Could just be a couple of fyarls if they've managed to control them," Harris said. "The old Initiative had a couple of funky-faced demons they used to try to kill Buffy. These towers here and here?" he asked.

"Yeah," Faith answered. "Guns. We have to take those out before the girls get here. No matter what. Top priority."

"And the guards there?"

"Human. But they have to go. Period. It's okay Xan, I can do that if I have to. They have to go. No question."

"Okay. Jack, Irina, can you hit them from a distance?"

"Yes, but you'll need to get close to be sure."

Faith moved and took Harris hand, said softly, "It's the Initiative, Xan, they crossed the line. I can live with a couple more dead men on my record a lot easier than even one dead Slayer, yeah?"

"Just as long you remember that when it's over, okay?" Harris answered.

"I will."

They ran through the plan again, adjusting for observations, then once more, adjusting for second thoughts. Then they sat back and rested, re-cleaned and re-oiled weapons, glanced at the sky and tried the satphone again, and waited.

Sydney looked back at the blueprint, at the tiny lines that indicated the vault area. If her mother was right, the key to her memory was there, if all went well, some time tomorrow morning she would get those two years back.

To her own surprise she found herself wondering if she really wanted to know. She glanced over at her parents, saw her mother smiling as she handed her father a canteen, had the urge to say, "Let's forget the whole thing. Let's leave the monsters to the monster hunters, leave the CIA to its eternal internal wrangling and disappear, the three us, change our names and go live on a beach somewhere."

But she couldn't. She looked at Faith, sitting cross-legged with the sleeping Harris' head in her lap, idly carving stakes and occasionally brushing the shavings out of his hair, and Sydney knew she couldn't just turn her back on them, no matter how disturbing she found the world the couple had carried with them into her life.

And she thought again of the weapon filled secret room in Julia Thorne's apartment, a place that seemed so far way now, but was still real. She knew she had to know. And then?

And then smooth sailing with the tide. Lorne had promised.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**JACQUE, DARIEN PROVINCE, PANAMA**

"What are you doing?" Dawn asked Weiss.

"I'm bolting the thing-a-bob to the whatsitwizzle, just like it says in the diagram," Weiss answered.

"I can see that. I'm just trying to figure which girl conned you into doing hers, cause they all seem busy."

"That's because this is mine."

"And what do you need one for?"

"Cause when I flap my arms I can never get more than an inch or two off the ground for any length of time. What do you think I need it for?"

"You're not going with us."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're not."

"Am too _infinity._ Look, Dawn, I'm not happy about transporting twenty girls to a combat zone, but then I didn't have much choice. But I'm damned if I'm letting them go in alone."

"Eric," Dawn said gently, "you do understand, these aren't ordinary girls, right?"

"Yeah, I get it, they all had pre-natal kung fu classes and maybe Marshall's right and they've had some extra bells and whistles installed. But I've been listening to these girls talk… and _talk,_ and _talk,_ since I picked them up in Cleveland and they're _girls._ I am not sending them off on a bunch of kites tarted up with lawnmower engines into one of the most dangerous places on earth, a rainforest full of refugees and drug-smugglers and snakes and jaguars and white lipped peccaries while I take the slow boat back to Panama City."

"White lipped peccaries?"

"Wild pigs, travel in herds, supposed to be dangerous."

"Eric, wild pigs are the least of our worries…." She stepped closer, took his hand and held it between hers, stared just as earnestly as she could into his eyes. "Eric, I appreciate your concern, but you don't understand. This is what we do. If you go with us, you won't come back. No, it's not a suicide mission. It's dangerous, but it's not that. We'll come back just fine. You, on the other hand, even if you don't get yourself killed, you'll find yourself in a different world."

"Dawn, hand me those pliers, would ya?"

"Fine. When this is over, you remember I tried to warn you. What about Mr. Dixon? Is he going to be stubborn too?"

"That's his kit there."

She tried with Dixon anyway, but he insisted he was going as well. And in her heart Dawn knew they were right. They weren't just hitting a particularly large nest of vamps, they were attacking a military installation and Weiss and Dixon had experience with that…. if their presence might help save a Slayer she should be insisting they come, not resisting

She went and found Dixon who was helping one of the girls get a handle on the clockwise/counterclockwise concepts and brought him over to join Weiss.

"Mr. Dixon, if I told you Caridad and Zoey could play catch with you and Eric, would you believe me? And by play catch, I mean, you and Eric would be the balls."

"Ms. Summers," Dixon said, "I know the girls are strong, but no, I don't believe that."

"Ladies," Dawn said, "do your thing."

She had Caridad pick Dixon up and had Zoey pick up Weiss and she had them toss them back and forth a time or two like argumentative medicine balls, then set them down, wide-eyed and breathing hard,

"So now, will you believe anything I say?"

"Umm, no," Weiss said.

"Good, because that would be foolish. But I am going to tell you a little story, and gentlemen, please, this you should believe because it'll probably get you killed if you don't. You ready?" The two men nodded. "This world," Dawn began, "is older than any of you know. Contrary to popular mythology, it did not begin as a paradise….."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Marshal came fully alert as the phone rang. The skies in Panama had cleared enough and Marshall found himself nervously speaking with Irina Derevko herself, before Jack came on and began quickly dictating GSP coordinates and times. Then when the essential information had been transmitted he relaxed a little and Marshal made the connections and patched them into direct communication with Dawn.

He turned and found Dwayne, Taariq, and Tracy anxiously watching him. He shrugged.

"So far so good," he said. "I guess we'll know tomorrow."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**TURBO, COLUMBIA**

Julian Sark put down his phone, reached over and took his companion's beer and poured it out, grinning at the man's outrage.

"From now on, you stay sober," Sark said. "We're going to have an early morning."

-**30-**

**Next: Chapter 20: Dawn's Early Light**


	21. Chapter 20: Dawn's Early Light

**Chapter 20: Dawn's Early Light**

**A/N**: For disclaimers, warnings, _Alias _notes, see prologue.

_In the U. S. Government, there is a lot more incompetence and a lot less conspiracy than is generally believed."_ **- a NASA spokesperson **

**CHAPTER 20: DAWN"S EARLY LIGHT**

**HAVANA**

The _bruja_ circle gathered in the crowded cemetery. Laline took the lead and sacrificed two chickens and a suckling pig, she'd brought rum and whiskey and tobacco as well. They chanted and danced, sang and prayed.

The spirits came.

Laline begged and thanked _Legba_ for permission to speak to _Erzulie Freda_ and in time the loa came and spoke to them, and Laline felt a terrible fear, but she held strong and asked her question and thanked the _loa_ for her answer, thanked _Legba_ again. And then the old women slipped silently away to gather again at Laline's house to sympathize and drink her rum and whiskey, eat her mango cake, never once saying the words "We told you so." Not out loud, anyway.

Finally they left and Laline sat in her rocking chair and stared out at the night sky. It would have been easier if the _loa_ had simply said no, not possible.

She considered simply telling Dayami that, but she knew her niece would spot the lie. The young are so foolish, she thought, thinking one man is different from another. Laline was an old woman and she knew better. In the long run, they are all the same. Foolishness, but her own fault. She should have just asked Faith to stake Javier when she'd had the chance. Another six months and Dayami would have been taking some other young buck to bed and life would be so much simpler.

Laline sighed, _hindsight,_ even more useless than the average man.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**OUTSIDE THE INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

Jack Bristow centered the crosshairs on the man in the watchtower's temple. Judging by the shape of his skull the man was probably a Columbian of native Indian stock, in all likelihood a refugee, hiding in the forest when his village was run over by drug smugglers or government death squads, or both, in one sequence or another. And now to feed himself, possibly even a family, he'd taken a job guarding demons. On behalf of a US government agency.

Or possibly he was a stone killer, a soldier from the death squads or the drug peddlers who had simply taken a steadier job, perhaps even for better pay. Jack wondered what salary grade "demon guard" would be.

It didn't matter. The man had a gun, and if he used it, chances were good that he would be aiming for Jack's daughter. So any moment now Jack was going to put an exploding bullet in that man's head, and that would be the end of his story, however noble, tragic, mundane or cruel. _C'est la vie._

Some thirty minutes ago, when just the tiniest predawn light was beginning to trickle down through the canopy Faith had smeared herself with mud, produced a black _shōtō,_ leaving Jack wondering once again where she managed to store all those blades she always seemed to have handy. Ostensibly she had left the big broadsword back in Havana, but he still kept expecting her to pull it out of her back pocket.

Speaking softly in the dark Harris had explained, Faith could sense demons moving about, circling the compound, apparently a sort of security patrol. Possibly because the eternal wet made electronic safeguards problematic, more likely simply because they could. Certainly it would serve to keep the locals at a distance.

Ten minutes ago Faith had returned and laid silent as Harris had applied an adhesive bandage to a long scratch running across her left shoulder. That finished, she'd sat up and wiped her blade and looked to Sydney who nodded.

They'd taken time for a quick hug, Jack saying, "Be well, sweetheart," trying to convey confidence rather than a parent's worry with his embrace.

"Love you, Dad," she'd said. She'd hugged her mother, then followed Faith and Harris back out into the brush and vanished.

Irina was on him then, her kiss quick but fierce, "Never," she hissed, "never doubt that I love you." And then she turned and was a gone before he could reply. He took up his weapon and moved to take up his own position, sighted in on his first target and began, with professional patience, to wait.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**JAQUE, DARIEN PROVINCE, PANAMA**

It would have been dreamlike, possibly nightmarish, if it wasn't for the harsh noise of the tiny engines.

Dawn and Dixon had laid out a few green flares to mark the runway. Each ultralight had been fixed up with fore and aft red running lights, assembled en masse they cast a sanguinary glow over the narrow airfield. Girls in bright and flimsy clothes----

---------"Look," Dawn explained when Weiss had argued for kevlar and camo's, "the clothes are mostly for your benefit, okay? No friendly fire, no hesitating when you need to fire. I figure you can remember not to shoot anything in a halter top a lot faster then you can figure out if whatever is crashing through the brush at you has the right color armband. Besides, it's our traditional battle gear. Kevlar would just slow us down, and besides, I don't want to girls to start thinking they're invulnerable." --------

-------- Girls in bright and flimsy clothes and draped in medieval weaponry cast eerie shadows as they moved among the skeletal machinery and exchanged hugs and whispers and began settling themselves into their … cockpits, Weiss supposed you'd call them.

He did a last once over on his own ride, fuel level, no loose joints, lights working, altimeter, compass, emergency parachute in place. He strapped his weapon down tight across his chest, checked his extra clips hanging from each shoulder, the bag of grenades he would be carrying in his lap.

At the edge of the field he saw a few of the townspeople gathering, drawn no doubt by the noise and he almost wished he could be with him, surely the takeoff was going to be a weird and memorable sight.

Well, it was going to be a weird, and if he lived long enough, memorable ride. I may be scared shitless, he thought. I'm not bored.

Zoey, the tomboy slayer who seemed to be their motorpool expert came by, taking a thumbs up from each pilot and checking names off on a list, she smiled at Weiss as he gave her his okay and passed on.

He saw a flare waving at the front of the line, heard the pitch of the engines change ahead of him, soon there was movement, he let the craft ahead of him get a twenty-five foot lead then began moving himself, trying to match the speed. In the distance he could see the lights of the first craft rising up into the still dark sky.

Whether due to the heavy cloud cover or, Dawn said, possibly due to the effects of a spell protecting the Initiative compound the GPS units were acting unpredictably, losing signal and giving wonky results. As a result, so they were navigating with a watch and a compass, so Dixon, as the most experienced orienteer, was taking the lead with Dawn and Caridad flanking. Weiss had been impressed with Dawn's willingness, once she had accepted that they were coming, to also accept their advice and expertise.

His turn came and he felt the pressure against his back as he accelerated and the earth receded beneath him. Fortunately there was little wind so it wasn't difficult to take his place in the back row of the simple formation, the three in the lead and five rough rows of four following.

There was little to see yet beside the red lights running ahead of him, softened a bit by the light mist and Weiss found his mind wandering to places he didn't really want it to go.

Dawn had finished her little you've just fallen down the rabbit hole speech and Dixon had said,

"Vampires?" and Weiss had said,

"Demons?" or possibly the other way around, Weiss couldn't really remember. But they had pretty much turned in unison to look at the girls and said, more or less in unison as well,

"Slayers? But they're just girls…."

"Yeah, yeah," Dawn had said. "God, why do people always say that? There's a perfectly logical reason why the Slayer is a teenage girl."

"To send children to fight monsters?" Dixon the outraged father had responded.  
"Bullshit."

"Who would you have chosen?" Dawn said.

"What do you mean?"

"If you were an old man in ancient Africa, and you were choosing a line of champions to endow with superhuman powers for the primary purpose of defeating demons, you'd have six choices, correct?"

"Six?"

"Old men, old women, middle-aged men or women, which in those times would have meant early to mid twenties at best. Or young men or women, which in that time would mean what we now think of as adolescents. Historically speaking, it not that long ago that thirteen was the age of manhood. Or womanhood."

"Okay. Obviously I'd choose a middle-aged man," Weiss said.

"Of course you would. But remember, you have to choose someone who's willing to fight and die. Before Willow activated the Potentials there was only _The_ Slayer, and being _The_ Slayer was a suicide mission. There's a reason soldiers are recruited young. Middle-aged men have families, homes, lives. Middle-aged men have been around, they're a lot less likely to be willing leave that family and that life to die for strangers. Less likely to charge into battle out of sheer high spirits. Certainly you could hand-pick the first one, get a volunteer, but if we assume it's out of your hands after the first one dies, a middle-aged man is not really the safest bet. And of course the same applies to middle-aged women….Old men and women we eliminate for physical reasons, agreed?"

"Yes," Dixon nodded.

"That leaves young men and women. _You,_ being the sexist pigs that you are, would chose a young man then, of course. And it's true, a young woman of breeding age would be more valuable to the tribe for simple biological reasons, one male can service any number of females, but the females can only have one, maybe two children at a time, therefore males are expendable. But, there's another side to it. And that is political power.

"I presume at the time there would have been a male dominated warrior society. Essentially the strongest man becomes the chief. Of course, that may at times be a _mental_ strength, a cleverness. But the point is, the tribe will be accustomed to following a strong man. Now imagine a young man, endowed with the Slayer's power, in a time when a sharp stick is the height of weapons technology. If he had even _minimal _political instincts he should have little difficulty attaining political power. In some individual cases, fine, but we're talking averages. Power, as you know, corrupts. Unless every Slayer is also endowed with superhuman wisdom and compassion, you have the problem of inevitable tyranny. And you have the problem of expecting someone who has everything he wants, women, food, power etc. to be your suicidal champion. Not that it _couldn't_ work, but is it really your best option?

"Of course, a young woman with a Slayer's power might well be capable of over-coming tribal traditions and gathering followers, there are examples of extraordinary women doing exactly that scattered throughout history. But _extraordinary_ is the key word there. It would not be the natural order, and the girl's own background, the cultural traditions she grew up with would militate against it. A physically powerful woman at that time would be much more likely to be isolated, to find her acceptance in the tribe much more dependent upon her defeating the external threat, i.e., demons, which is after all, the primary goal.

"Of course it serves the old men's self interest, but expecting them to commit political suicide themselves is … unlikely. And balance is not a bad thing.

"It's cruel, but we are assuming it was an act of desperation, are we not?" Dawn finished. "Look, I need to go check in with Zoey, you guys take a moment to get your head around it. When you have more questions just grab one of us and ask, okay?"

Weiss had turned to Dixon, said, "Vampires."

"Demons," Dixon had replied, called out, "Dawn, wait, in the apartment, when our guns were pulled out of our hands…"

"Oh, that was Dennis," Dawn called back, "He's a ghost."

"Well, obviously," Weiss had chided Dixon, "a ghost. Ask a silly question…"

After digesting for awhile while they'd gone to the girls and asked and were bombarded with details, demons with claws, with tentacles, with tails, vampires new and old, vicious and not so, witches, wizards. Dragons.

Flying through the night, the passing air dissipating some of the engine noise behind him, bobbing along in nothingness and a few red glows it all seemed unreal once again, as it did every hour or so. Demons. Vampires. But the girls had been so full of details. And so _strong._ It was true. It had to be true. Either that or somewhere along the way he, Eric Weiss had gone quietly mad.

He checked his watch. Not too long now. He would see for himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

A klaxon sounded. They had tripped some sort of alarm. Sydney heard the rattle of automatic rifles as her parents and Harris opened fire. That had surprised her a little, Harris both willing and able to handle a gun.

"I don't like them," he'd said, "but I'm not an idiot."

With Faith watching her back Sydney had managed to place eight charges before the klaxons started, she set off the first three and then followed Faith's lead, hugging the wall as they moved around the compound toward the cables that controlled the covering net. She pause to set another charge at the base of the wall, changed the frequency on her transmitter and blew two more bombs. If all had gone well the western wall would have a gaping hole now.

Faith stopped at the corner, peered around, pulled back, motioned for her to wait, bent at the knees and leaped straight up to crouch on the wall for moment, then disappeared.

Several eons, or possibly thirty seconds, later there was a _whoosh_ and a cloud of dust wafted around the corner, followed by a grinning Faith motioning for her to follow. They went on about twenty-feet then Faith paused and cupped her hands and Syd stepped into her grip and felt herself flung upwards to the top of the wall where she hung as Faith leaped up beside her, grabbed her wrist and hauled her up and over, tossing her up in the air. Then dropping down ahead of her to catch her and set her on her feet when she fell. It was, Syd thought, an exciting way to travel, but she doubted it would ever be popular.

She looked around and saw the small building where the cables disappeared and pointed, Faith nodded, turned and ran toward it, Sydney running after.

Something huge and scaly emerged as they closed on the building and suddenly Faith was a whirlwind of blades and the thing began screaming, spraying streams of purplish blood in all directions as Faith performed the death of a thousand cuts in ultra-quick time. Syd caught herself gawking, and turned to survey the compound, saw that the monster's death wails had indeed drawn attention, men, and things moving too fast to be men, had turned and were rushing at them, Syd unslung her shotgun and began firing, aiming, as Harris had instructed, for knees and necks. One decapitated attacker dusted but more still came.

She heard Faith yelling, she ran to join her as Faith smashed in the door and went inside to where a huge hand driven winch waited. Faith kicked the spring lock open and grabbed the lever and straining with effort began to crank. Sydney pulled a grenade off her belt and tossed it out at the approaching attackers and, under cover of the explosion, took up position in the doorway and quickly reloaded and began a steady fire that forced the attackers back. They milled about, arguing, the Syd could hear some of the comments, the human contingent clearly wanting the immortal vampires to take the lead, the vampires telling the humans to go fuck themselves.

Then a wide metal door in the largest building rolled open and disgorged a phalanx of eight foot tall demons in body armor over their natural scales and claws, marching in lockstep across the compound's open center toward Sydney's suddenly ineffectual fire, the human and vampire defenders falling in behind them like infantry behind a tank. Syd glanced up, above them the huge net was slowly starting to move and a sliver of pale gray light had appeared, casting a slight illumination over the compound. She glanced back at a sweating Faith but didn't bother to yell 'faster,' the Slayer clearly already working at full-strength.

Syd reloaded, picked a demon and after ten steady shots at it's ankle managed to take it down but was quickly up again and limping forward, fuck, Sydney thought, they were coming too fast, no way Faith got the net open before the demons got there… she'd have to give up the winch and fight and Syd doubted even Faith could take on more than one or two of these guys.

And then an explosion hit the group of followers from behind, another hit the demons who paused, turned like automatons to face the new threat which was revealed to be Harris who had come through the broken west wall and was heaving grenades with pretty fair distance and accuracy, behind him her mother followed, rifle at the ready, squeezing off judiciously placed shot pairs.

The armored demons charged at them then, and Irina grabbed Harris' arm and pulled him back and they retreated to the western watchtower, pausing to clear a dead body off the ladder before clambering up, there was another brief burst of gunfire, then Harris appeared in the tower, pushing another body over the edge, dropping another grenade down on the demons milling in confusion in the yard below. Still some bugs in the system, Sydney thought with a smile, which soon faded as the big door rolled open again and another set of armored demons appeared, followed by a squad of apelike creatures swinging lengths of chain from either hand.

The yard was growing lighter, she saw that the movement of the net had gathered momentum, was already a third of the way clear, she heard a pop and saw the bright orange light of a bursting flare, she glanced over at the tower and saw Harris load another flare into the Verey gun and fire upwards through the gap.

Syd glanced back, Faith was cranking fast now, in the yard Syd saw an exodus of, she presumed, vampires heading back inside, away from the steadily increasing light.

Behind the apelike creatures a squad of humans in full battle gear appeared, then ducked away from a spray of bullets coming from the southern trees, from, Sydney assumed, her father who she hoped had fired and moved as, after moments hesitation, the men emptied their clips into the area the shots had come from.

We were lucky, Syd thought, they weren't really prepared to fight someone inside the compound, were they? Just a possible insurrection from the vampire food.

Behind the rifle squad something looking very much like the Popemobile appeared, clear armored glass of some kind protecting a man in a white coat who stood over an electronic control board. The man peered around at the chaos in front of him and began punching buttons, the tall clumsy demons turned as one and started marching toward Sydney while the ape things started toward the tower. The cavalry better get here damn soon, Syd thought.

She pulled a c4 bomb out of her pack, armed it and set it in the doorway, turned back to Faith, shouting, the netting was three-fourths open, that was going to have to do. Faith nodded, locked the winch in place and ripped the handle off, turned and used it to batter an opening in the back wall, that she and Sydney slipped through just as the first group of demons hit the doorway. Syd blew her bomb, which to her dismay knocked the demons over and stripped them of the manmade body armor but did not kill them, though the two in the lead were limping badly as they came around the corner of the remains of the winch building.

Another flare popped overhead, and there was a squeal and another pop as one of the ape creatures fell off the tower, swatting at the flame on his chest. Faith looked back, hesitated, then turned and ran, leaving Syd trailing behind again as the Slayer sprinted to the razor wire enclosed village area. She ripped the main gate off it's hinges and threw it aside, turned back to Syd and yelled at her to get the villagers out and turned again and went sprinting through the compound, zigging and zagging to avoid the slow moving demons, then the sporadic bursts of startled rifle fire.

Faith ran up amongst the ape demons climbing the tower toward a trapped Harris and Irina. She beheaded one and stole his chains and began lashing the others who fell off the tower and began to form a circle around her, whirling their chains and lashing back.

Sydney ran from door to door, yelling in Spanish at people huddling in the back corners of their meager dwellings and refusing to move, all but one man who came and grabbed her arm and began jabbering about more people trapped inside the buildings.

Sydney nodded, answered back that she understood but right now they had get these people out of the line of fire, she ran from house to house again, but still could get no one to move.

The hell with it, she thought and turned to leave and found the opened gateway blocked by a wall of slightly singed demons in tattered bits of broken armor, brandishing wholly uninjured and sharp looking claws.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was all going wrong, Jack Bristow thought. It had been stupid even to try, they were outnumbered too badly. They should have waited for Weiss to bring his crack troops in overland instead of this seat of the pants throw up a flare and we'll meet you as soon as we can bullshit. His own fault, Jack thought, I should never have let Harris talk me into this, my fault.

Sydney was trapped in the village of vampire delicacies, Harris and Irina were trapped in the west tower while Faith swung around on the outside like some sort of anti-Fay Wray beating back the hordes of Kongs but even she could only keep that up for so long. Jack had one clip of ammo left for the rifle he was using carefully to force the Initiative's chickenshit soldiers to keep their heads down. He could see their point, though, to be fair. Who wanted to take a risk when there were nigh invulnerable demons to do it for him?

He had half a dozen grenades. A pistol with two clips and knife. He had to do something. He just couldn't think what.

The first tiny plane came fluttering in like an autumn leaf, lurching left and right, skittering off at an angle as the inexperienced pilot tried to circle in the relatively confined space… Jack doubted it was intentional, but as evasive maneuvers went the descent was masterful, the few shots the defenders got off before ducking away from Jack's response clearly missed entirely.

Then there was a second and a third, a fourth, fifth, the humid confined airspace above the compound suddenly filled with the buzzing of giant metallic mosquitoes auguring in and kamikazeing into groups of confused demons, the amazingly agile, brightly clad pilots leaping free at the last moment to land lightly on the ground and come up swinging swords and axes.

Jack settled back and watched in awe as, in a matter of minutes the yard was secured, the Kong demons reduced to a pile of body parts, the eight foot tall lockstep demons chopped down to size, half of the human soldiers captured, the other half unfortunately had managed to take the Popemobile control unit and retreat, the big door slammed shut behind it. But watching the girls work Jack felt confident that that was but a momentary delay.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Weiss made a second pass, cut the engine just as he neared the center of the gap in the jungle, pulled the emergency cord and the tiny explosion blew his canopy up and open, blew the his seat away from the body of the plane …. He shook his head, such a waste really, but he didn't think he was up to leaping lightly out of his crashing ultralight just at the last minute, like some people apparently were. No, he was taking the slow elevator down. As were Dawn and Dixon, Dawn's chute just below him, above him he heard the pop as Dixon pulled his cord.

He got a closer look at the piles of disassembled demons as he floated down. Okay, he thought, I guess it's real. No way I'm a sick enough bastard to dream this up on my own. No way.

He landed a little hard, but made a relatively elegant roll out of it and came up quickly and turned to Dawn who was nimbly avoiding a threatened hug from a one-eyed man covered in mud and what seemed to be two or three colors of blood.

"Dawnie, Dawnie, Dawnie," the one-eyed man was shaking his head, "is your sister going to be mad at you…"

"So what else is new," Dawn replied. "So, how are you, how was Cuba? Only you could go on a Caribbean vacation and end up here."

"Hey Dawnie," said a raspy voiced brunette who also looked as if she'd just been through a bit of war, and rather enjoyed it, "Nice to see you. Can we play old home week later? We ain't done here, yet."

"Good point," the one-eyed man said, turned and yelled, "Hey, Syd, we bout ready to blow this box open?"

Weiss turned and saw her then, looking lethal and lovely as always despite the mud and the sweat… because of the mud and the sweat? It's not fair, Weiss thought. No one should look that good that messed up. She came trotting over then, went past him, paused, looked back, said,

"Ohmigod, Eric, why….how… you shouldn't have…"

"And miss all this fun?" he said and shrugged, "No way." And then she reached for him and he wasn't about to avoid that hug, nimbly or otherwise. She held him tight for a moment, then pulled back, "Ohmigod," she said, "there's so much…"

"Oh yeah," he said. "After." And she nodded, wiped a teary eye, then squealed and leaped at Dixon.

"Oh, for God's sake, Sydney, _focus,"_ a voice said, "Destroy the evil demon lair first, hug your boyfriends later."

Holy shit, Weiss thought, turning again, Irina Derevko herself, loose in the wild, arm in arm with Jack Bristow.

"I blame you for this," she continued, turning to Jack, "clearly a lack of discipline in her youth."

Yeah, Weiss, thought, it's real. Has to be real. No one could make up shit like this.

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 21: Blood**


	22. Chapter 21: Blood

**Chapter 21: BLOOD**

**A/N:** See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias_ notes

**Insp. Jessica Yang:** _I mustn't get shot._  
**Chan Ka Kui: **_I mustn't get shot either. _

----dialogue from Jackie Chan movie, probably **Supercop**

_"Well, once again, my friend, we find that science is a two-headed beast. One head is nice, it gives us aspirin and other modern conveniences... But the other head of science is bad. Oh, beware the other head of science, Arthur. It bites." _**- The Tick**

**Chapter 21: Blood**

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

The girl's blood was warm and wet on his cheek, Weiss looked over, saw the look of utter shock and surprise on her face and reflexively threw himself at her, knocking her down and covering her with his own kevlar clad body. He dug in his pack and pulled out the prepared field dressing and slammed it down on the gaping wound where the bullet had exited the little blonde's shoulder, pressing hard to stop the bleeding.

He was vaguely aware of other girls, bodies moving past him, shouting, grenades and gunfire echoing in the wide hallway but Weiss could see only the fear in the girl's eyes. He slid his other arm under the slight shoulders, pulled her tight against his chest and rolled backwards to gain his feet and lurch forward, shouting at the girl,

"Stay with me, Renee, you're gonna be fine, just stay with me," and he ran, oblivious to anything but the circle of daylight that signaled a way out of this madhouse.

Dawn was waiting as he emerged, waving and yelling at him to bring the girl to the blanket she had spread on the ground next to large bag of medical supplies. They worked together, quickly cutting off the remains of the girls blood-soaked top, rolling the wounded slayer on her side so they had access to both entrance and exit wounds, on Dawn's nod Weiss pulled his makeshift bandage away...

"Ohmigod," Dawn hissed, and stumbled back, staring at the wound, then Weiss saw her eyes roll back, he reached out and half-caught her as she dropped. He let her roll off his arm and lay still on the ground and he turned his attention back to Renee.

He reached into the medical supplies and withdrew the white jar with the homemade label with the willow-tree image and the words 'BLOOD STOPPER.' He opened the jar, poured out a handful of the gray-green powder and pressed it into the wound, then another handful, then a third into the smaller entrance wound, then slapped gauze pads over the holes and taped them into place.

He pressed his fingers on the girls neck then, felt the rapid but steady pulse, saw that she was watching him and he smiled.

"You're gonna be fine," he told her, reaching out to smooth her hair, thinking, again, still, some more…. so young, so small, maybe not as frail as she looks but still fragile, the bullet a couple inches lower and she's dead.

She started to sit up, he had to put his hand on her good shoulder, hold her down,

"I have to…." She started

"Don't be silly," he told her. You're gonna be fine. _Tomorrow._ The day after. _Today_ you're gonna lay here and goof off like a little princess, okay? Promise?"

After a moment she nodded. He reached inside his vest and retrieved one of flowers he'd picked up during the girls' Panama City side trip, held in case of an occasion just such as this, though he would never have admitted it to the girls, or to himself. With a little flourish he pretended to pull it out of her ear and presented it to her, and was rewarded with a wide child's grin. He gave her prepared injections of a sedative/painkiller and antibiotics, unfolded a thermal blanket and covered her, made her promise once again to lay still.

He picked up Dawn and laid her on her own blanket, checked her pulse and breathing, she seemed stable so he decided to let her come out of it in her own time. He sat back on his haunches and took a breath, looked back at the black hole in the compound where Syd and Jack had blown an entrance, bypassing the hardened steel door for the weaker cement wall. The gunfire had stopped now, the last echoes of explosions and screams dissipated, silence had settled back down over the clearing, the surrounding forest unchanged, indifferent.

He was debating whether he should stay with his patients or go looking for more when Harris appeared in the opening, supporting another bloodied girl with a foot dragging behind her, so that between them they had two good legs. Weiss stood and ran to them, took the girl away from Harris, picked her up and carried her back to lay her down next to Dawn while Harris came limping behind.

The girl had taken bullets in the thigh and bicep, her humerus was shattered, the sharp end of her broken femur poked through the skin, Weiss guessed she had tucked and rolled away from the shooter, successfully protecting her head and heart with her limbs.

Fortunately the major arteries had been spared, there was blood everywhere but no spurting. He looked up at the girl's stoic face, _Isobel,_ that was her name, her face still, jaw clenched, but Weiss saw the tears leaking out the sides of her eyes,

"You're gonna be fine, Isobel," he told her and kept up a steady repetition of variants of the phrase as he went first for the morphine… By then Harris had arrived and, without needing to speak they began working quickly, cleaning the wounds and spreading them liberally with the coagulant powder, wrapping the wounds, carefully straightening the limbs, grateful for small mercies as the wounded slayer moaned and passed out. They encased the breaks in inflatable casts, checked vital signs and nodded.

Weiss stood and stretched and took a few deep breaths as Harris hunkered over Renee, murmured a moment, bent and kissed her forehead, then looked back,

"What's up with Dawnie?" he asked.

"Caught a slayer elbow in the chin," Weiss lied, "Dawn was leaning over when I bumped Renee's injury, she jerked back and bingo…. Hate to say it, but the girl's got a glass jaw."

Harris reached into the supply bag, rummaged a moment and came out with smelling salts, moments later Dawn was sitting up, shaking her head,

"What happened?"

"Weiss here says you have a glass jaw," Harris said, helping her to her feet. She looked over at him and Weiss winked. "You okay?" Harris continued, "We could probably use you in the computer room."

"Yeah, I'm… Renee?"

"She'll be fine. Isobel too," Weiss said.

"Okay, just…. give me moment," she said squatting down, dropping her head between her knees.

Weiss jerked his chin at Harris and stepped away from the wounded girls, Harris came after,

"They need to get out of here, especially Isobel," Weiss whispered, "If they heal as fast as Dawn says they do… she needs a surgeon to set those bones properly as soon as possible."

"Yeah, I know. Working on it."

Weiss nodded at the helicopter on the roof.

"I figure between me Syd and Jack we oughta be able to hotwire that thing, use it as Medevac…."

"I'll keep it in mind," Harris answered. "Right now it's a good plan B." He nodded at the prone girls, "Mr. Weiss. Thank you."

"Least I could do," he answered, "Mr. Harris."

"Yeah?"

Weiss hit him then, not full out, he realized, he'd pulled the punch a little for some reason, to about three-quarters, but still a good shot to the side of the face and Harris went down on his back and lay looking up at him.

"Feel better?" Harris said.

"Yeah. A little."

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't a complete waste."

Weiss held out his hand and Harris took it, allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"I'll send a couple girls out to give you a hand," he said, "whether you need it or not. It'll be good for them. I'll tell them you're in charge, have them build a shelter or get some mosquito netting out of those huts or something… And if you hit me again I'll have them give you a wedgie they'll hear in Des Moines, okay? You ready, Dawn?"

"Go ahead, I'll catch up…." She waited until Harris was about fifteen feet away, then spoke softly, "Thank you, Eric… Not for hitting Xander, I mean, don't hit Xander, okay? He's the good guy…"

"I'm sorry, I just had to hit somebody and there was only him or you..."

"And me with the glass jaw. Yeah. But thank you for… being a good guy too. You're in trouble now, you know?"

"What? Why?"

"You saved Renee's life. She's gonna want to pay you back. You may never get rid of her."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Happiness is a warm gun' may be overstating it a little, Syd thought, but her shotgun was hot to the touch and she was damn happy to be alive. Her ears still rang with the high decibel sounds of an indoor firefight, however brief, her mind full of horrific images…. A man being sliced in half by a sword, another man's head exploding as a shotgun blast took him in the face, demons screaming in rage, in pain, severed limbs writhing on the ground, searching in vain for the rest of their bodies, blood in many colors, green, blue…. red…

The girls leaping about the enclosed space at speeds too fast for the eye to follow, dashing in and out of the rooms and corridors that lined the main hall, blades flashing, dealing death and dismemberment and moving on, relentless, merciless …

She had set off the C4 charges she and her father had planted and the wall had crumbled, the slayers had sent a barrage of hard-thrown grenades into the gap and followed after the last explosion. They'd gone in in groups of four slayers and two normal humans, Faith leading the first charge with Harris at her side and Dixon trailing… Syd and Jack had gone with the second wave, Weiss and her mother with the third, Dawn staying outside with the last group of slayers who had leapt onto the roof to watch for escapees or any flanking maneuvers….

"Just avoid the demons," Harris had lectured them, "your job is to kill or contain the humans … the more humans you take out, the less the girls have to deal with them … when it comes to humans the girls have a tendency to err on the side of mercy … I'm counting on you to make sure that's not a fatal error... Unless we get a mass surrender, there will be no time or place for prisoners until the main building is secure. Are we clear on that? One of the girls gets shot in back because you were merciful I will kill you myself."

The battle had been quick, there had been a bad moment when a squad of men had emerged screaming and firing from a side door, Syd had felt the tug of a passing slug and had a torn sleeve to testify to the danger of that encounter…. But the slayer beside her had dived forward, rolled and come up amidst the men, the sweep of her blade cleaving torsos, necks, arms, destroying any semblance of order in the charge, leaving the survivors stunned, confused and, shortly, dead, as two more slayers joined the fray. Syd and her father had moved as one to check the doorway and found two more men cowering there, too scared or wise to make the charge, one of the men had started to raise his rifle and Syd fired without hesitating… no time or place for prisoners.

There had been one last desperate charge of demons, but the slayers had simply stepped aside and cut them down as they passed through the gauntlet, and then there was no more battle, only slaughter.

Another C4 blast took down a steel door and they were in the main control room, which had apparently been hurriedly abandoned, cigarettes still smoldered, coffee cups were still warm to the touch, but there was no one there.

Faith had leapt onto a table, barked an order and the slayers lined up for a head count, came up two short. Faith had cursed and started back out the broken door then stopped, Syd had heard Harris shouting from the hall, she couldn't make out his words… but then she didn't have slayer hearing. Or much hearing at all, just at the moment. Faith had turned back then, she'd come over and inspected Dixon and her parents, turned to her, said,

"You good, Syd?" and she'd answered,

"Five by five," and got a grin back, and the offer of a cigar which she declined.

Faith turned, offered smokes to the others, Dixon accepting, then lit up herself, shrugging her shoulders, shaking out her hair which sent drops of blood spraying across the room. It hit Syd once again how bizarre her life had become, Faith, wearing low-slung khaki pants and a black bustier, her face and body smeared with mud and four kinds of blood, smoking a long thin cigar and idly twirling a butterfly knife in one hand seemed a perfectly logical apparition.

Faith turned to Jack, waved at the banks of computer termnals, said,

"Your world, dude. Enjoy."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**MCLEAN, VIRGINIA**

Department of Special Research Director Kendall paced his den. The Duty Officer had called him at home at the crack of dawn, passed on a coded message the DO wasn't cleared to read. Kendall had had to dig in his safe for the one-time pad key, decoded the signal by hand. And cussed in plain English.

What the fuck were you supposed to do when you got an SOS from a project that didn't fucking exist?

And who in their right mind would attack that place? Who would possibly be able to attack that place successfully? Kendall had visited once and had nightmares for weeks

He checked the message again. Yes, the code indicated an external attack, not the insurrection that they had taken so many precautions to prevent. If not one thing, it was another.

It was that bastard Lindsey. It was someone from his department that had been sniffing around the files. Either through intention or incompetence he was almost certainly behind this …

Kendall called the DO back, told him to have the jet prepped for a flight to LA.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**TURBO, COLUMBIA**

Julian Sark checked is watch and paced, went back into the hut at the side of the field and did another radio check. Still working, still no message.

Fuckit, he thought, sometimes you just have to take the initiative.

"Come on," he told his pilot, "Start her up."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE NOT AT ALL NICE**

Tippin resisted the urge to fling to door open and run. The bolt he had been ever so slowly edging to the right, micro-micrometer by micro-micrometer had finally… finally shifted that last infinitesimal bit of distance, and he'd felt the door give. He wanted to get out. NOW.

But he was still wet from the last time the pipe in the upper left corner of the tiny stone cell had sprayed him with a gallon or two of lukewarm, ammonia scented water, draining out the tiny hole in the lower right. Time had become a tenuous concept, but he guessed the washdown was a daily event. He'd noticed that he was usually still wet when every other meal was dropped through the grate. Fed twice, washed once, he figured, that was a day.

If he was still wet, then the next meal would be soon, and they would notice his escape. If he waited, ate and returned the container, and then left the cell after the attendant left…barring some sort of alarm, he would probably have hours before they noticed his absence.

On the other hand if the attendant noticed the loosened bolt it would all be over.

Inevitably the song started playing in his head, _Should I stay or should I go now? If I go there will be trouble, An' if I stay it will be double. _

He pressed the knife into the tiny gap and twisted, applying pressure to the door, holding it steady, the very last thing he needed was for it to swing open when the attendant unhooked the grate.

He waited.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

"I fainted," Dawn told Xander as they walked back toward the hole in the wall.

"Yeah, I figured," he said. He had his arm around her shoulders, letting her take a little of the weight off his bad leg.

"I can't believe…God, if it was just me, Renee would be….."

"Hush now," Xander interrupted. "Don't get silly on me now. First, Weiss was there and obviously capable… and gee, I can't imagine why you might find a little blonde girl covered in blood a bit disturbing..."

"And I thought I was doing so well…." And then, as she knew he would, he stopped, turned, took her his arms and held her and she sank gratefully into his embrace.

"You're doing great," he told her. "Arriving in the nick of time with the big save here. When Buffy's done yelling at you she's going to be really proud. We all have our little moments. Buffy has. I have. Now you have. Forget it and move on."

"You're getting blood all over my shirt," Dawn said, but still held tight.

"That's my girl."

They stood still a moment longer, then eased apart, she took his arm around her shoulders again, and they walked on,

"So, you and Faith. It serious?"

"Yeah, I think so," he answered, "Weird, huh?"

They moved among the bodies and the parts and she didn't feel a twinge. She found Xander's stick impaled in the lower heart of a Zek demon, braced her foot against the fur and pulled it free, wiped the blade on the demon's back, twisted the handle so the blade receded into the tip and took it over to Xander who was staring down at the upper half of the severed body of a small man, dark-skinned, with features typical of the native Indians, the face twisted in pain, shock.

"Not your fault, Xan," she told him.

"I dunno. Maybe we should have given them more of a chance to surrender."

"More time to set up defenses or plan a counter-attack? We had to go in…. and we have to keep going, it ain't over 'til its over, right?"

"Yeah. I guess. Thanks," he said, taking his stick. They went on to the control room where Faith met them at the door and proceeded to check Xander for injuries using the full body press method. Cool, Dawn thought. Buffy's going to be too freaked about this to stay mad at me long.

She slipped by the couple, did a quick round of the girls, decided there was still too much adrenaline flowing for them to stay idle. She sent Vi's team out to do a patrol around the compound, sent Caridad's team out to drag the vampire food out of their huts and get them ready to move, and the remaining girls out to help Weiss, which pleased them, Dawn thought, a little more than it should have. Weiss has groupies, she thought. Poor man.

She went and got a hug from Julia…. _Sydney._

"You remember my father," Sydney said,

"The 'knuckle dragging fascist corporate stooge,'" Jack interrupted, holding out his hand, "So nice to meet you again, Ms. Summers."

"And this is…."

"Mrs. Schonaur," Dawn said. "Julia's friend."

"Also known as Irina Derevko, my mother," Sydney said.

"Nice to see you again, Dawn," Irina said.

You people, Dawn thought, must have to write your name-of-the-day on the back of your hand so you don't forget, but she said,

"So, what's the sitch?"

"I'm sorry?" Jack said and Sydney answered,

"They've barricaded themselves in the lower levels. Some sort of fail-safe, emergency lock-down procedure. There's an intercom we think is working, but they haven't answered yet. Dixon is running a cable over to the communications building, see if we can't get Marshall into the system to find some kind of bypass…."

"Let me have a look." She used Willow's spell to bypass the access codes, started pulling up the security protocols. Which were all written in militarese and made her head hurt.

"Jack, Sydney," she said, bringing the protocols up on a second terminal, "care to translate?"

Voices were raised then in the doorway, Xander was arguing with Dixon, insisting that they couldn't make an outside connection until they'd made sure the research records were either destroyed or isolated. If this data got out on the CIA servers it would just be a matter of time before they had to do this all over again…

Dawn let the voices fade to the background, she new that when Xander got tired of arguing he would simply nod at Faith and that would be that, they'd do things Xander's way. She left Jack and Sydney to their area of expertise, and began to search out the actual research records, browsing at first, reading a summary, an abstract, looking at pictures, a video.

She heard a voice murmuring, "migodmigodmigod," and realized it was hers. She sat back, closed her eyes and opened them quickly when the video began to playback on the inside of her eyelids,

"Xander!" she called out, "Xander, you have to… " she hesitated. No one should see this. But he had to. He had to understand who they were dealing with. "Xander!"

"Coming," he answered.

"Faith!" she called out.

"Yeah, Dawn?"

"Make sure they don't hook that cable up."

"You got it."

"What is it, Dawn," Xander said, sinking down into a chair beside her.

Dawn pointed at the screen, "Your tax dollars at work," she said.

**-30-  
Next: Chapter 22: Dr. Mengele, I presume.**


	23. Chapter 22: Dr Mengele, I presume

**Chapter 22: Dr. Mengele, I presume**

A/N: See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias_ notes

_There are hardly any excesses of the most crazed psychopath that cannot easily be duplicated by a normal kindly family man who just comes in to work every day and has a job to do. _--** Terry Pratchett** _Small Gods_

_Bad people should have a big scar or an eye patch so you can recognize them._ --**Kitty, **_That 70's Show_

**Chapter 22: Dr. Mengele, I presume**

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

"Dr. Mengele, I presume," Harris said into the intercom.

"This is Dr. Frederick Martin," a voice crackled on the speaker, "and you have trespassed on a United States Military installation….."

Harris waited until the voice had run down.

"Doctor, my name is Xander Harris…."

"Should that mean something to me?"

"Yes, it should, actually. But how 'bout Watcher's Council? Slayer? Sunnydale?"

"Dr. Walsh was a fool…."

"And you are following in her footsteps. You _do_ know you're working with vampires and other demons, right?"

"Yes. Of course. How do you…"

Another voice cut in, clipped and military, "This is Colonel Jackson. I know who you are, Harris. You're one of the anarchists that destroyed the Sunnydale project. What do you want here?"

"I'd say more one the 'anarchists' that _saved…_ but whatthehell. 'Destroyed' works for me. And I sure didn't come to praise you, Colonel. I came to bury you. Literally. This time tomorrow there's going to be nothing here but mud bugs and trees. I just want to know, do you want to watch from down there or up here with us?"

"We'll get back to you," the Colonel said.

They waited. After awhile Harris turned to her father, said, "I didn't think it was _that_ difficult a question, did you?"

xxxxxxxxxxx

Syd wrinkled her nose and picked up a leg. Nothing, she reflected, was ever simple. The little latina slayer, _Caridad, _had come into the control room with the same man from the village who had told her that there were people trapped inside… Syd felt a twinge of guilt that she'd forgotten all about him.

There were eleven, the man had said, nine women, two men, they'd been taken in the night before to be fed upon and used…

Harris had cursed. They'd had the man look at the blueprints and show them where they were probably being held, then sent him back out.

Caridad had hesitated, nodded back toward the corridor,

"How many men did we…." She said softly, and instantly Harris was on his feet, arm around her shoulders, saying,

"They were shooting at us, sweetie. A man with an automatic rifle is just as dangerous as vamp. Worse, usually. I know it feels wrong, but you go out and have a look at Renee and Isobel, any time you start feeling guilty, you think of them, okay?"

Then when Caridad had left he'd turned to Syd and Dixon, said, "Give me a hand would you, we need to get the human bodies out of sight," and he'd started toward the hall, only to have Faith grab his shoulder, say,

"Let them with two good legs do that, Xan, we need you here."

"All right, but no slayers, and that means you too. I'm the one that gets bruises when you have nightmares…"

"We got it," Syd said, "Dixon and I can handle it," but her mother had come too. So there they were in the hall, Sydney with a leg, Dixon with a gory torso, her mother following with a head, piling them in the corner of what looked like the living quarters of one of the head scientists, judging by the books on the shelves. There were pictures, too. A thin woman with thick black glasses from central casting, and two kids doomed to suffer miserably in middle and high school. An older couple standing on a rural porch and waving shyly, parents, Syd assumed, especially seeing another picture, the same older couple with a young, Clark Kentish man in mortarboard and academic robes. The same young man with the thin woman again, a wedding photo.

Syd went back out into the hall, this time to help Dixon retrieve a body, whole this time, but for a tiny opening just below the left ear.

At least it was something to do. She was so close. There had apparently been a few alterations in the buildings that didn't show on the stolen blueprints. Still on the whole, the upper, ground level seemed to match up well enough. Assuming the underground did the same, she figured she was about seventy feet away from the crystal that held her memory. True, recovering the lost two years didn't seem quite as overwhelmingly above-all-else important as it did just ten days ago… but now that she was this close the urgency had returned. Whatever had happened, once she knew… she could deal and move on. She could deal with vampires and demons, she could deal with anything.

Once she knew…. She would be free. She could start moving forward with her life. Perhaps to a phase that involved fewer severed body parts.

"Having fun yet, Marcus?" Sydney asked.

"Best vacation ever," he answered.

Finished, they indulged in a little fresh air, watching Weiss supervise a group of girls who were assembling a shelter over the injured slayers. He turned and waved and Syd smiled and waved back.

Her mother took her arm then, led her back down the corridor to the mess where a brief search turned up the coffee supplies and soon the aroma of fresh-brewed Colombian beans began to compete with the smell of cordite and drying blood.

Her mother laid her hand on her shoulder, said,

"Almost there, Sydney. How are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm a little worried…. I know I should go see if I can find my file here, but Dawn seems so horrified… I'm not sure I want to know."

"It's always best to know, Sydney. It's what you don't know that kills you."

Her father was talking on the intercom when they took the coffee trays into the control room,

"Doctor Martin, no one is coming to rescue you. As far as the DSR is concerned, you don't exist. You're not even on the black budget. You're totally deniable. Colonel, you there?"

"I'm here."

"I must admit that the supernatural world is new to me, Colonel, but I've been a CIA operative for nearly thirty years now, much of that spent in the field. I've spent the last few days in Mr. Harris' company, and I'm telling you, as one professional to another, if he says you'll be dead and buried this time tomorrow, he means it. He'll feel bad about it. But he'll do it. Thirty days worth of food and air doesn't matter. It's not a siege. It's up to you, Colonel. Open up and come out and I guarantee you'll be treated well. Stay locked up and you will die."

"We'll get back to you," the Colonel said.

"I don't believe this," Harris said.

"Waddya expect, Xan? Bunch of eggheads living in beyond buttfuck jungle, spend all their time torturing demons, you gotta figure they drank the kool-aid a long time ago," Faith said. "Whatta we got to do to get in there, Jack?"

"The lower level is seriously reinforced. We have enough C4 left to maybe blow a small hole in the ceiling, maybe around here," he said, pointing at the blueprints. "Also there's this ventilation shaft. It has grills, but possibly if your slayers are strong enough they could break those down. But it won't exactly be a sneak attack and you'd have to emerge one at a time. Assuming they mount even a moderately effective defense you will have casualties. Or…."

"Or?"

"You could let Marshall take a crack at finding a bypass."

"What does that involve?"

"Plugging in that cable Dixon set up. They've got a state of the art satellite uplink."

"Is it secure?"

"From outsiders, yes. From the people that own the hardware, no. But if the Colonel got his SOS out like he claims, and I believe him, they already know we're here."

"I'm more worried that they'll be able to trace Marshall's location…. Dawnie, waddya think, you've met this Marshall, you think he can crack it?"

"If anybody could…. He can probably hide his location… if not… if worse comes to worse we'll find a way to move Dennis."

Harris hit the intercom button, said, "Colonel, you there?"

"The Colonel has had a slight accident," Dr. Martin answered. "He was a simple soldier and didn't understand the importance of our work. We are on the very edge of enormous breakthroughs Mr. Xander Harris, discoveries that will change the very nature of human existence."

"Bwa-ha-ha-ha," Harris said.

"What?"

"C'mon Doc, you gotta do the laugh. It's no fun if you don't do the laugh."

"You're a fool, Mr. Harris. They may deny us in their budgets, Mr. Bristow, but they want our results. The US government may not come directly, but they'll come. Omnifam has it's own small army. And _they_ will come. They don't care about diplomatic niceties. And we'll see who is buried when the day is done."

"What!" Sydney all-but-shouted, "did he say _Omnifam?_"

"Yeah," Dawn chimed in, "It's some private NGO based in Zurich, they're an equal partner in the project."

"_Sloane," _Sydney said. "Of course. I should have known. Sloane."

"Who's Sloane?" Faith asked.

"He's a goddamn evil genius who's been a plague on my life."

"Does he have pet cat?" Harris asked, "White, long-haired, tendency toward diamond collars?"

"No," Sydney said. "I can't really picture Sloane with a pet. Or I'm his pet, always jerked around at the end of his chain."

"Kinky," Faith said and Sydney started laughing, with only a slight tinge of hysteria in her voice,

"Dad," she said, "You should see your face."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Taariq slipped silently into their bedroom, shook him gently until his eyes fluttered and he sat up, suddenly awake,

"Marshall," she said, "You've got mail."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lauren came awake and stared blurrily at the clock, then grabbed the phone.

"Reed," she said, listened for moment, said, "I'm on my way." She turned and urgently shook Vaughn awake,

"Michael," she said, "Something's happened, something big, I can feel it. This is it."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

The telephone rang and Dawn picked up, said, "Moreau's Pizza and Mutant Horrors, how may I direct your call… Hey, Marshall, how's it going…. Oh. Look, give Jack the details, I need to talk to Xander."

Syd watched her cross to where Harris was sitting in front of the computer terminal next to the intercom, grimly reading through something on the screen. He looked up and Dawn shook her head.

"There's two keys. We have one up here, Doc Martin has the other. Until those keys are in place and turned, complete lockdown. It's a physical thing. He can't bypass it. Once the keys are in he's golden, but without them…"

"Fuck," Harris said, turned to Dixon, said, "Mr. Dixon, what's the what with the chopper?"

"It's ready to go. "

"You said, what, five hours roundtrip to Panama City?"

"On the safe side, yeah. We can probably do it a bit faster, but with refueling and avoiding the authorities… best to figure five."

"Waddya think, Dawn? Will seemed in pretty good shape in Cleveland, you think she can cope with taking out a another witch or wizard, one on one?"

"To save a slayer from crawling down the ventilation shaft? She'll cope," Dawn said.

Faith, sitting cross-legged on the table next to Harris' computer dropped her hand down on his shoulder, said,

"Red's tough when she has to be, Xan. We do what we gotta do."

He sat a moment drumming his fingers, then suddenly looked up at Dawn and grinned, reached out and punched the intercom button,

"Hey, Doc Fruitcake, you there? Got a question for ya."

"Yes, Mr. Harris?"

"You a genius?"

"By any measurable objective standard, yes, I am. You have a point, Mr. Harris?"

"You know what gets geniuses in trouble?"

"This grows tedious, Mr. Harris."

"They forget that they ain't the only ones. There's an associate of Mr. Bristow's who's an absolute genius, by any measurable standard. You know what he's really good at? Bypassing security systems."

"Forget it, Mr. Harris, the lock down procedure is fool proof."

"Maybe so, Doc, but like I just said, this fellow is not a fool. He's cracked it. I gotta admit, there is one small flaw in his solution."

"It doesn't work?"

"Nope. It works too well. It opens everything. _Everything,_ Doc. Every door in the place that has a lock, Doc. Every lab. Every closet. Every cell. Every cage. _All at once._ You got your running shoes on? You got two minutes to decide. You open the front door and come out with your hands up, or I open everything."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, I would, Doc. Killing demons is what we do. It ain't bright and sunny out, but it's day, so the vamps ain't going anywhere. And the rest, we'll kill'em as they come out, be like shooting fish in a barrel. Of course, I know _you've _always been the soul of kindness to those things in the cages, so I'm sure you got nothing to to worry about. But maybe some of your colleagues haven't been so gentle, you might want to consult a little. Ninety seconds."

They heard voices in the background, they heard Dr. Martin say, "He's bluffing," and some one answer, "What if he isn't?" and Harris grinned.

"Sixty seconds," he said into the intercom.

"Thirty. Okay everybody in position? Good, we're gonna hit the switch in….. twenty…."

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, on my mark……."

"Wait! Mr. Harris, wait, please," a new voice came over the speaker, naturally deeper then Dr. Martin's but squeaking a bit now. "Wait!"

"I'm listening."

"There's a key…."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE NOT AT ALL NICE**

Tippin waited until the attendant and his trash cart rattled out of hearing. Then he very deliberately counted to five hundred. He took a deep breath. He eased the door open and crawled forward, slithering on his belly forward out of his cold stone coffin. He couldn't turn so he had to keep going, reaching down for the floor with his hands, touching moist rock just as his crotch reached the opening allowing him to ease himself out without too much damage to tender areas.

He was out. He stood, shaky on stiff and trembling legs. He stretched, it felt so very good to stand and stretch he just stood still a moment, arms outflung. He looked around, he was in small stone vault filled with the tiny coffin sized cells like safe deposit boxes in a bank.

Next major decision. To open the other cells or sneak away on his own… in his cell he'd decided on the latter, but now, standing here outside the thought of leaving anyone else in the tiny cages seemed horrible…. On impulse he stepped forward and opened the grate of the cell next to his own, the inmate hissed at him and Tippin jumped back… the man was clearly mad, his eyes wild, yellowed, his face distorted. That settled that. He would travel alone.

He swore he would come back and set them all free. Sydney would help with that, she would have the resources, she would owe him that.

He turned and hurried out of the vault into a small room lit by a single incandescent bulb hanging in the center and containing only three other doorways into dark corridors. He looked up but the electrical wiring give him no guidance, a single cable running into the each of the passageways. He bent and at knee height used his knife the mark the doorway he'd just exited.

He went from doorway to doorway, pausing to listen, inspecting the floor for any sign of use, sniffing for any hint of fresh air…. And of course it was the third and last option where he felt, or at least thought he felt a slight breeze. He marked the entrance and started walking, counting his strides as he went.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

Jack Bristow watched the hallway floor roll back to release a gust of slightly fetid air and reveal a set of metal steps that began to descend into another nearly identical corridor. They were waiting there, hands on heads as instructed, first eight men in BDU's … he saw Faith grin and reach in and grab the third man by the back of the neck and slam him up against the wall,

"Where do you think you're going, _amigo?_" she asked, "There's nothing but slayers and sunlight up here."

The vampire raised his hands slowly in surrender, reached in to grab his shirt and rip it open to bare his chest,

"That's better than what's down there," he said. "Get it over with," he added and Faith obliged.

The men were patted down for weapons and tied, taken outside. Jack turned his attention to the thirty or so civilians coming up the steps. They could have been the physics or chem or any hard science department at a good sized university being dragged out of the labs for Parent's Day or somesuch, blinking in the sudden glare of outside attention. Two to one male to female ratio, a dozen or so older professorial sorts, the rest thirty-ish grad student/fellowship types. There were white coats in evidence but light khaki shorts and tee-shirts seemed more the norm, personal styles ranging from prissy to defiantly scruffy and back again.

While they were waiting for Marshall to work his magic Jack had abjectly apologized for the CIA's entire existence, and in return a grinning Dawn had allowed him full access to the computerized data. He gone through the personnel records… about half of the people in front of him had been with the project since the inception, the others had been recruited at the rate of two or three a year…. No one had ever left. Although there had been three deaths.

It was a long time to live in such isolation, Jack thought.

"Dr. Martin?" Harris was demanding, and a tall man stepped forward, straightening his coat that looked a little worse for what appeared to be a recent struggle, judging by the fresh blood on one sleeve and a redness beneath the nose. Otherwise he looked like the Dean of Clean Cut Academy, a bit of gray at the temples, handsome features marred but not hidden by the clumsy black-rimmed glasses.

"I'm Dr. Martin," he said. "You must be Mr. Harris. Would you do me a great favor, Mr. Harris?"

"I'm listening."

"Would you admit to these fools that you were bluffing about opening the gates?"

Harris grinned.

"Sure thing, Doc. But only about that. Five hours from now we'd have been in anyway. You, stay, let's get everybody else out and in the village."

"Doctor Yvonne Fields," Jack said, "you stay as well."

They'd kept names out of the test records, but Jack had found a master-list and cross-referenced, and found Sydney's file. He figured he'd need a Ph.D. in organic chemistry to follow the details but he'd got the gist. The file was full of neuroimaging, slides and video, functional MRI's, other techniques Jack was not familiar with. Notes referring to responses to first external stimuli, then biochemical, compound G-121, compound H-144, then the combinations, internal, external. The notes all signed by 'Y. Fields." The file ending with, by academic standards, a bitter and colorful rant about lax security and Martin's refusal to allow Y. Fields to place a proper control chip in the subject, who had, as a result, escaped.

There were other videos too, beside the close-ups of the brain. Pictures of his daughter strapped down in something like a dentist's chair, weeping, laughing. Screaming.

Jack figured if he asked, Harris would refuse to let him simply execute Y. Fields in cold blood. So Jack didn't figure on asking. Jack figured, after the fact, Xander would forgive him. Certainly he would after one look at the file.

But first Jack had questions.

A trim black woman, one of the neater grad student types stepped forward, said,

"I'm Dr. Fields. Are you really the Jack Bristow? Of Project Christmas?" After a moment Jack nodded, and she continued walking toward him, her hand held out, "This is an honor, sir. I think you'll find our methods have advanced a great deal since your work, but you know what they say about standing on the shoulders of giants. I think of you as a true pioneer."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Her mother was laughing silently behind her father's back when she returned and Syd wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Her mother, standing just beyond her father's left shoulder, turned and saw her and winked, and Syd felt a little better. But still, the last few days notwithstanding, seeing Irina Derevko amused at Jack Bristow's expense still felt a little uncomfortable. She looked to her father but he was poker faced, perhaps even a little more than usual.

The rest of the scientists were herded out, then the remaining two gaped in surprise as two girls came down the hall carrying an enormous log that they used to jam the stairway open, just, Harris said, in case.

And then, finally, they were ready to go down. Faith, Harris, and Dawn, who'd answered Harris' suggestion that she wait in the computer room with a kick to the shin that had Syd wincing in sympathy. Also going were the Mutt and Jeff pair of slayers, Caridad and the tall Somali, Shad, Syd and her parents.

"So Doc, how 'bout that tour?" Harris said. "First, we want to see this wizard or witch of yours, after that, I understand you have eleven locals still locked down here… for your sake I really hope they're all still alive. After that I think Syd here wants to have a little peek into your vault."

The metal stairs clanged as they went down, the air slightly musty with a tinge of antiseptic, beyond that it seemed terribly ordinary, there was a server room, a conference room, offices, a bulletin board in the hall with various schedules posted.

And then, finally, it got a little, by Syd's standards, weird. Dr. Martin stopped at door that was painted black, covered in occult symbols. He ran a identity card through the slot, punched in a code and the door clicked open. Faith stepped forward, took hold and wrenched it off it's hinges and set it aside. Then the butterfly knife appeared in her hand like magic, she pressed the blade against the side of Martin's neck.

"No tricks, Doc," she said, "anything funky happens, you're dead faster than _shazam_, got me?"

"No tricks," Martin whispered.

"Cari," Faith went on, "you take the witch, wizard whatever, if in doubt, take her out, yeah?"

"Yes, Faith," Caridad answered softly, "I'm ready."

They marched down a short hall, pushed through a set of curtains and found themselves in a small candle-lit altar room, one wall covered in arcane symbols, and second seemed to have a short poem, judging by the varied lengths of the lines, written in a language Sydney didn't recognize. Dawn, she noticed, seem to be familiar with it and had whipped a small PDA out of somewhere and was writing rapidly.

In the center of the room was an emaciated man, strapped down in a kneeling position in one of those supposedly back-friendly computer chairs, facing the wall with the mysterious poem written on it. An IV tube dropped from the ceiling and fed into one arm, a half-full colostomy bag hung on the side of the chair. Tiny lights, two red, two green flickered on and off on a little box about the size of a nine volt battery that was imbedded in the man's temple. As they contemplated the sight a silence fell over them and Syd became aware a tiny whisper, that the man's jaws were moving slightly…

Then Dawn was speaking, her voice snapping with anger,

"You fucking morons," she said, "none of this is necessary, this spell works just fine if you repeat it once every three days. You only have to chant it on the day after the full moon and then only for .…."

"We are well aware of that, young lady," Martin sneered. "And if Mr. Rayne had behaved himself he could have carried out his duties in relative comfort. But as he insisted on causing mischief we found this to be a more consistently efficacious method of maintaining the shield's constant utility."

"Oh, well," Harris said, "That's all right then."

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 23: Chips Ahoy**


	24. Chapter 23: Chips Ahoy

**Chapter 23: Chips Ahoy**

A/N: See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias _notes

_If you make the world a better place, what are you going to do with people? ---_ **The Guilty Head** _Romain Gary_

**Jack:** _Yes. We shared a similar unsentimental patriotism... and a devotion to our wives. But Sloane changed and ... it was Rambaldi that did it. _

**Chapter 23: Chips Ahoy**

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

"So," Weiss said, "_Jack of Diamonds._ Is that your card?"

"Wow. How'd you do that?" said a wide-eyed Jacquie, a slim, colt-hipped slayer who, after returning from patrol around the compound, had insisted on sitting by Isobel's side, using an improvised fan to keep the insects away.

The shelter built, the half-dozen girls not assigned sentry duty had gathered in an informal circle around the patients, complaining about the mud and the bugs and shooting the occasional glare over at the prisoners in the fenced in village. Weiss had decided little distraction was in order

"Magic," Weiss answered with a grin, did a couple showy shuffles and then he threw the cards in the air, said _"Sunuvabitch!"_ and stumbled backwards, reaching instinctively for his sidearm only to find Vi suddenly behind him, her hand gently holding his wrist.

"It's okay, Mr. Weiss," she said, "it's only Willow. She likes to surprise people."

"Snruf," Weiss answered, staring at the two women who had suddenly appeared before him, along with a small stack of stretchers and a box with a big red cross on it. He shook himself, let his buzzing mind dwell for a moment on the fact that girls who moments before had been all wide-eyed and wow over a few simple card tricks were totally blasé over people materializing out of thin air. He figured he'd get used to it in time. Lots of time.

Even without the abrupt arrival the women were a startling pair, the redhead wearing flowing linen in earth tones, her blonde companion dressed as if she was meeting her agent somewhere _très chic _for lunch. Where, to judge by the vicious looking axe she was carrying, she was going to chop his head off.

"Willow," Vi said, "this is Mr. Weiss who's been very helpful..…."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Weiss," the redhead said abruptly, pushing past him to bend over the wounded slayers, "sorry to be rude but first things first."

"Of course," Weiss answered, taking a step back.

"And this is Buffy," Vi continued.

"Hey," the blonde said, then turned to Willow, "How bad?"

So, Weiss, thought, this was her. Buffy. The last Chosen _One._ She was, of course, older, Weiss thought. Hard to judge with the dark glasses covering her eyes, but she did seem more … contained than the girls. But still, a young woman, and surprisingly small, really. He did seem to feel a certain … power, but of course that could simply be him projecting from the story Dawn had told him.

"They look okay," Willow said, "their life force is strong, but we should get them to a hospital. Isobel's going to need surgery. Vi, we need to get them on the stretchers."

Renee woke as they were moving her, calling out to Weiss who stepped forward to take her hand and promise he would come see her in Cleveland when it was all over…

Then just as Willow was ordering everybody to take a couple steps back there was a shout and Weiss looked over and saw Dawn and the extremely tall slayer, Shad, emerging from the compound, the slayer carrying a human form curled into a fetal position,

"Willow, wait," Dawn called, "one more patient, he's in really bad shape."

"Ohmigod, is that… Ethan?" Buffy said, startled as the almost skeletal form was laid on another stretcher.

"Yeah," Dawn said, "I guess they brought him down here from Nevada when this project started."

"So this really is the Initiative, not just some copy cat group?"

"Yep. Some people just don't learn. We're lucky they used force rather than just bribing him. He could have caused us a lot more trouble than he did."

"I guess Ethan deserved…. Well, maybe not that. Nobody… No. I am not going to feel sorry for Ethan Rayne. Actually, Ethan Rayne should feel sorry for _you,_ missy," her voice going from contemplative to outraged in a millisecond, "when I get through with you, just what in the hell did you think you were doing…"

"Buffy... Buffy! … " the redhead called, then gave up, said, "tell her I'll be back in about half an hour," and Vi nodded.

Weiss watched intently, but one moment she was there and the next she just wasn't, the woman and the three loaded stretchers just…_gone._ No puff of smoke, no thunderclap, no twinkly lights. Just…. gone. There should at least be a puff of smoke, he thought. He turned his attention back to the arguing sisters,

"Automatic rifles! Bullets! Dawn, are you out your mind? And Xander, oooh! I'm going to have a few words for him too…"

"He made me wait outside," Dawn interjected, turning and starting to walk back toward the building with Buffy on her heels, "he didn't let me go anywhere near the fighting…."

"Well, maybe he can live, then, but when Willow gets back I'm going to make her promise to not only _never_ give you a teleporter again but to give me a spell…

"You know how Xander and Faith went to Cuba together?" Dawn said.

"… that I can use to make sure yuo don't …. What, yes, Willow told me. So?… Hey, don't you dare try to change the subject…."

"He says it's serious."

"Who says what's serious?"

"Xander. Him and Faith."

"He did not."

"Yes, he did. And wait 'til you see them together, with the way she touches him..."

"Dawn, ewww."

"Nothing gross. Well, I guess there _was_ a _little _gross, but there's sweet, too…"

"Hey, Dawn," one of the slayers on the roof called down, "Just so you know, there was a helicopter that went over about ten minutes ago, not right over but close enough we could hear it."

"Okay, thanks," Dawn called back, "let me know if it comes back."

"Whoa," Buffy said as she stepped inside the building, "there's some serious evil in this place."

"Yeah," Dawn said, "lot of vampires and demons too. You're gonna have to see this to believe it, Buffy." They went on, followed by Shad, and Weiss trailed after, curious himself and wondering what it could be that _Buffy_ would find surprising.

"Oh," Dawn said, "You remember Julia's friend, Mrs. Schonaur? She's actually Sydney's mom."

"What? Wait, Mrs. Schonaur is her mother? I thought Sydney _was _Julia and her mother was this Roweena person…"

"_Irina,_ yes."

"And Irina is…..?"

"Jack's wife. Or ex-wife. The KGB agent."

"But I thought Jack was CIA?"

"He is. I told you all this once….."

"Did you use a chart?"

"No."

"You probably should have used a chart."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When she was in prison one of the counselors had given Faith this thing to read, something about having learned everything you need to know in kindergarten. It was, as far as Faith was concerned, a bunch of goody-goody bullshit you couldn't even con kindergartners into believing. But she did think they had one thing right, besides the bits about cookies and milk and flushing; you pretty much learned your basic view of the world when you were a kid. And even when you grew up and your brain learned to kinda even things out, when you got a little perspective, that was all in your head. Your heart never really changed.

Like with B, no matter how the world fucked with her, she was always a little bit surprised, a little part of her _just couldn't believe_ that this shit was happening to _her. Again._ She had an idea of what the world should be like that she was never going to lose.

Like Dawnie, being able to get genuinely angry and chew out Jack about something that happened fifty years ago to somebody she never even knew in place she'd never been. But the anger was genuine. Because in her heart Dawn believed things like that _shouldn't_ happen. Ever. Anywhere. Maybe that was just the monks talkin' in Dawnie, but it was still real.

Faith was pretty much the opposite. Good things were what she could never really believe in, kindness was always, _always_ a surprise to her, though she'd learned through experience to accept it as real, she always had to make an effort. Stupidity or cruelty, in and of themselves did not offend her … sure, hurt Xander, or Dawn, Giles, hell even B or Red or one of the juniors and she would be immediately pissed and ready to kill. But she simply couldn't get angry about what happened to Rayne. It was what she expected of the world. Sure, she recognized it as wrong, as something that needed to be stopped. But she wasn't _angry_ about it.

Xander, she thought, was somewhere in between. He didn't expect too much of the world. Faith knew that part of his wild courage came from a core belief that being a coward wouldn't help, that sooner or later his number would come up, and if running away wouldn't save him, he might as well go down swinging. He was like Faith in a sense, do something to those people he considered under his protection and his anger would be immediate and total … but he could see beyond that as well. In his heart he expected bad things to happen to good people. But it still pissed him off when people did bad things… He thought the world was messed up enough without people making it worse. That's why what had been done to Rayne had fueled his anger, even though he considered Rayne an enemy. The stupidity and cruelty angered him, regardless of the victim. Faith understood, even admired that a little. But she would never really share that sense of outrage.

What they found in the room three doors down from the altar room had taken that outrage to another level. Xander had stopped taking verbal jabs at Martin and had simply gone still. Faith braced herself for the explosion… trying to decide … when he finally broke and went for the man whether she should stop him or let him kill the bastard.

They'd found the missing eleven people stretched out on cots in the dark room, naked, fresh wounds on necks and thighs scabbing over, a myriad of scars visible beneath and around the fresh injuries, a dullness in the eyes that Faith recognized, and knew Xander did as well. Part of it was from blood loss, but mostly it was despair. They were beaten. The idea of rescue was a concept they couldn't understand, couldn't bear to contemplate. Caridad was in there, arguing with them, trying to get them to leave the room.

But they wanted their sweets. That's how the system worked. They were brought in, men raped them, vampires fed on them, they were given sweets; cake, ice cream, cookies and juice and time to sleep. And they hadn't got their sweets yet.

Faith couldn't understand the Spanish but she knew the tone, Caridad was pleading with them, making promises, a touch of exasperation in her voice, but still gentle, still kind.

And then Jack stepped forward, laid a hand on Caridad's shoulder, whispered something in her ear and she straightened and looked at him a moment, then shrugged and backed away.

Jack began barking orders in Spanish, Faith understood those well enough, Stand up! Walk! Move! Now! Turn right!

And it worked, puppets on the string of Jack's voice they struggled up off the cots and walked to the door, started down the hall. Faith stepped aside and let them pass, looking over them at Xander, watching his rage turn, at least temporarily, to sadness as he sagged back and leaned against the wall. Then her attention fell on Dr. Martin and the small, self-satisfied smile on his face. He seemed to feel her gaze and turned his head to look back at her. He winked.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

Lindsey was ranting. Some deep black budget operation had surfaced, sending out maydays from the Panamanian jungle a good six, seven years after the American military was supposed to have left the isthmus.

The base, some kind of hush hush research facility was under attack … and presumably had fallen since some unknown entity had apparently taken over the satellite uplink… they hadn't been able to decode the signals but they had traced it ….well, all over the fucking world, but one of the places they'd traced the signal to was here, this office.

So far no one was claiming credit, there'd been no private communications or demands, but obviously at some point the shit would hit the fan. Heads would roll.

DSR Director Kendall was on his way here. It was technically a DSR project, so obviously Kendall was looking for someone to shift the blame too, and had settled on the CIA's LA office as scapegoat number one. Kendall was an ass and Lindsey would dearly love to turn the tables, but if it turned out the damned Bristows, and/or worse, their vacationing friends had something to do with the attack, then it was going to be very damn hard table to turn.

Especially since Ms. Reed had sent all the regular units off on a wild goose chase in the Amazon when the real action was in Panama….

There was more, a good forty-five minutes. But Lauren Reed had got the message. If she could find a way to nail Kendall, Lindsey would back her, if not, Lindsey and Kendall would get together and pin the goat's horns and tail on Lauren Reed and maybe Vaughn as well…

"I think," she said as she and Vaughn left the meeting, "we need to have a chat with Marshall."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

And now, Syd thought, the time had come. Her feelings churned, she was afraid the crystal wouldn't be there, she was afraid that it would be, that she would never get her memory back, that she would and remember some horrible secret… none of these fears were new, but they were all intense now. That and she wanted badly to get out of this place, the altar room had filled her with horror and she could feel in her gut that the deeper they went it would only get worse.

Her mother spoke for her,

"Xander, I don't mean to press you, but the vault is back that way, I believe. I know it's not your top priority but…"

"Irina, Syd, I haven't forgotten," Xander answered, "we're just waiting for Dawn, we open that vault without her and I'll never hear the end of it."

Sydney touched her mother's arm, lied and said, "It's okay, Mom, a few more minutes doesn't matter."

Then Faith suddenly stiffened a little, "B's in the building," she said. Then added, "Syd, don't mean to keep you hanging, but before we go back we need to check the rest of this floor, I got serious bad feeling… slayer thing."

"Maybe Syd, Dawn and I could …." Irina started but then hurricane Buffy arrived, stomping across the floor, to stand in front of Harris, demanding,

"So, stranger. You haven't come to see me why, exactly? You can run off to Cuba with some bimbo but you can't pop over for a few days in Rome? And what happened to your face? I mean Will told me you had a scar but I didn't think…" She reached out then, ran her fingers along the white ridge that graced his cheek.

"Hey, Buff, good to see you too," Harris said, grinning. And then he said "Woof," as the blonde girl hugged the air out of his lungs, held him till he began to actually gasp a little, then stepped back and wiped her eyes, started to speak again, and choked up, and Xander stepped forward and this time he held her, said,

"When this is over, I promise," and they stood still a moment longer, then Buffy stepped back, turned to the other slayer, said,

"Faith."

"B. Looking sharp."

"Shall we do this before my head explodes?"

"Oh yeah. Shad, you're with us, the rest of you hang back, if one of us yells "Run!" you all get the hell out of here and send the rest of the girls down. We're gonna see what's behind door number three."

Her mother sighed with impatience, but there was obviously no point in arguing, so they followed after the three slayers stalking down the hallway. It wasn't, after all, Syd thought, the sort of thing you saw everyday, might as well enjoy it.

They didn't bother waiting for Martin to open the door but simply kicked it down and stood staring. Her curiosity overcoming her horror Syd went forward to peer inside as well and saw a hundred naked corpses standing in serried ranks in the parade rest position, with alpha-numeric codes tattooed in two inch high characters on their foreheads.

And little boxes about the size of nine-volt batteries blinking red and green at each temple.

About evenly divided between male and female, most appeared to have been in their late teens or early twenties when they died.

"Vampires?" Syd asked.

"Oh, yeah," Faith answered.

"But why?"

"Test subjects," Dawn answered.

"For what?"

"You want to tell her, Doc, or shall I?" Dawn said.

"That information is classified, young lady," Martin said, "revealing it is a federal offense. Treason, to be precise."

"Having a little trouble with reality, there, Doc?" Dawn asked, turned back to Syd, said, "Look, this is just from quick glance at the files…"

"Of course."

"They've got three essential things they're working on here… one, a behavior modification chip for humans…. But they're using vamps as test subjects because a vamp's biology is still very close to human, especially the brain. For example, a drug that sedates a human will usually sedate a vampire, it just takes a higher dose…. So the sitch is, the whitecoats here can do things to vamp that would kill a human outright… that's the thing they haven't licked yet. That thing on the side of Ethan's head, on their skulls in there, that's just a motor-control unit. For the chip to actually exert thought control it has to be imbedded in the brain itself… and a chip that works directly on the human brain does too much damage. Vamps heal, humans don't. So they can re-use the same vamp over and over. They figure, they'll get the chip working the way they want, then find a way to make it less lethal to humans."

"Meanwhile….."

"A lot of vampire torture and back to the drawing board. I'm not exactly on the _Vampire's Yay_ team, but … torture is torture, and this isn't the kind they enjoy, either. This is just… ugly. "

"I beg your pardon," Dr. Martin interrupted, "your friends are in there debating whether to cut their heads off or set them on fire, and you're saying I'm the ugly one?"

Dawn turned, stared in genuine surprise… "Doctor Martin," she said, "can you really not see the difference? Seriously? Besides, that's not even your real crime here, is it, Doc? Your crime against humanity, anyway. You didn't exactly put a 'Vampires Wanted' ad in the local paper, did you? Didn't even host a 'Virgin Blood Party'. You had them made, didn't you?"

"What?" Dr. Fields said, "Fred, you had them made?"

Dawn snorted, "Don't even try it, Yvonne. You knew and I know you knew, and even if you didn't it wouldn't matter, after what you did to Syd … if Jack doesn't get you, Irina here will…"

"Hey, Dawnie," Faith interrupted, "you need anything from these poor bastards before we do the mercy thing?"

"Nah, go ahead."

"Cool. So, I've always wanted to say this, and, you know, _live._ B, you take the thirty on the left, Shad you get the thirty on the right, I'll get the thirty in the middle and the last one done dusting buys me and Shad a beer."

Sydney turned away, even with dust rather than blood and gore as the result, a hundred people being beheaded wasn't an image she needed in her brain.

"What she did to me?" she asked Dawn.

"You'll have to ask the Doc, you're dad scammed your file before I had time to get into it much. Some sort of variation on the chip theme."

And then Syd heard what would only be described as a squeak of fear, looked over and saw Dr. Fields' eyes open wide as she pressed her back against wall, pinned there by Irina's suddenly very dark glare.

"My daughter," Irina said, her voice gentle, like a straight razor gliding over a lathered jaw and pausing at the carotid, "had a chip imbedded in her skull, right about here…"

"That was just a sensor," Fields blurted urgently, "some of us believe the chips will never work properly in humans, or vampires for that matter. Not for anything more involved than simple pain/pleasure control. An automated shock collar, really. The brain is not simply a wet computer, it is a biochemical system too complex to simply override with brute force without causing damage… the brain has to be … seduced, guided. Enhanced."

"Altered?"

"No. Well, in time then brain would …. Adjust itself. But your daughter … escaped before we finished the initial testing phase, I swear! We had orders to treat her with special care. We did not and had no intention of _harming_ your daughter, we were … making her _better._ That's why she was selected. Thanks to her father's work she was already a superior performer, we wanted to find out how much … farther we could take her."

Her mother turned to Dawn, said, "Jack has the file?" and Dawn nodded, and Irina turned back to Fields, "We'll discuss this in detail later." The woman nodded, with, Syd noted, a decided lack of enthusiasm. Her mother continued,

"Dawn, you said there were three areas they were working on here, what are the other two?"

"The second area is chips for demons. They have the opposite problem there. The chips wear out..."

"And they have the same problem, the control is limited. What they want is a demon they can tell to, for example, go the Hawaii and kill every third surfer. What they have is a demon that refrains from killing it's controller, and will attack a specific target when directed. But that's about it. _Demonic robots._ Which is fine as far as it goes. Except when the chip breaks down they have really pissed off, out of control demons…"

"And they're all still alive because…"

"They put a self-destruct system in the imbedded chips. The chip reaches a certain level of deterioration and boom, half the demon's head blows off. Or their chest. Or ass, wherever the demons brain is located. Doesn't always kill them, I expect, but probably keeps them down long enough for the demons still under control to finish them off."

"What gets me," Dawn continued," is they could probably hire half the demons in LA to do whatever the hell they wanted for pennies on the dollar that they're spending here. I've met a couple demons that would go to Hawaii and kill every third surfer for the price of the trip and a gimme cap. But then Doc Martin and his friends wouldn't have _control._ And I'll say this for them, they did learn one lesson from Dr. Walsh, at least. Before you make your all-powerful monster, make sure you can control it. And that brings us to the Dr. Fruitcake's specialty. Demon essences."

"What?"

"He's trying to … transfer demonic qualities to humans. Like ideally you'd have a human who had vampire strength and longevity but could still eat a salad in the sunlight. I'm not quite sure where Doc stands on the whole soul issue, since I'm not convinced he has one."

"Is that…" Syd started, "Okay, I've had to readjust my whole concept of the word _possible,_ but… well, with the chip I sort of understand the idea, but…."

"Well, Buffy got infected once, nearly drove her mad, before Giles and Angel cured her. We had another friend, became part demon and … well, I never really understood what happened there but … it didn't end well. Actually, now that I think about it, Giles was a demon for a day, and when you get down to it a lot of us believe that the power of the Slayer has a demonic quality … so I guess to be fair it's not a totally stupid idea…"

"Of course it's not stupid, you arrogant little …It's been done," Martin said. "We've done it. Not perfectly, I admit. There have been… side effects."

"Currently kept downstairs in cages," Dawn said.

"Yes. For further study. But it's been done. There are records. A man named Rambaldi..."

"Oh crap," Syd said, "I should have known. If Sloane is involved , then Rambaldi had to be in there somewhere."

And then Faith came bounding out of the now empty vampire storeroom, shaking the dust out of her hair and grinning,

"Ah," she said. "That feels better, haven't seen that many vamps in one place since…. " she lost a little of the grin, "the Hellmouth, I guess. Waddya say we go check out this vault thing?"

Buffy appeared behind her, said, "There's more. I can still feel… a lot of demons."

"Yeah, Buffy," Dawn replied. "There's a whole basement full. But they're mostly in cages and Syd's been patient… I think we can spare a little time…"

"Sure. You're the boss. Or so I hear," Buffy smiled wryly as Shad came up beside her.

xxxxxxxx

And _now,_ Syd thought, the time had come. She fought the urge to hold her mother's hand. It was nice to have parents again, but let's not regress too much, she thought.

"You want to do the honors?" Dawn asked.

"You go ahead," Syd said and Dawn grabbed the handle, turned it and pulled the heavy door open, Dr. Martin gasped,

"How?"

Dawn answered,

"Marshall. Xan wasn't bluffing that much, Doc. As soon as you turned that key, this place became Marshall's playground. After you, Sydney."

It was small room mostly empty. There were several bundles of cash in three currencies, and a stack of gold coins on the left hand shelves. On the right a bank of file cabinets stood, she pulled the first drawer open and found a collection of passports and personal papers.

"Shall we cut to the chase, Doc?" Harris said, "You know which one she wants."

"Number twelve," the scientist snapped.

Her fingers trembled a little as she took the thin metal handle and pulled the deep drawer open and stood a moment, staring. And then she began to count.

**---30—**

**Next: Chapter 24: I Remember, Mama**


	25. Chapter 24: I Remember, Mama

**Chapter 24: I Remember, Mama**

A/N: See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias_ notes

**Irina: **_I lived for years with the same obsession, to find a higher meaning in Rambaldi's work. I never understood how you managed to avoid getting caught up in it._  
**Jack:**_ I had something neither of you did._  
**Irina: **_Sydney. _

_Yeah, don't you love her  
Don't you love her as she's walkin' out the door._

**Love Her Madly**, _The Doors_

**Chapter 24: I Remember, Mama**

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

"Eighty-seven," Sydney said, "there are eighty-seven black crystals."

"Are they labeled?" Irina asked.

"They're coded," Sydney answered. "Dawn, do you think you can…"

"Sure, but why bother? The key to breaking the spell is just breaking the crystal. And I figure we should break them all, don't you, Doc?" Dawn said, grinning. "Waddya think, gonna be a few interesting reactions among your staff, maybe?"

"So, how…" Sydney started.

"Easy, stomp on them, throw them against the wall, whatever, crystals usually shatter pretty easy….."

"Wait," Irina said, "Sydney's about to get some two years worth of memories, some of which may not be that pleasant. Perhaps we should move to more agreeable surroundings?"

"Here," Weiss said, bending down to pick an empty currency bag off the bottom shelf, "put them in this." He stepped forward and held the bag open and Sydney transferred the crystals from bin to bag, careful not to do any premature damage.

Willow's appearance had finished off the last of Weiss' natural skepticism. _Memories stored in crystals?_ Sure, why not. If they told him that after this they were all going to the moon for cheese and crackers and a game of golf, he'd grab stick and start practicing his backswing.

Syd put the last rock in and Weiss closed the drawstring, handed her the bag which she clutched to her chest. He laid his hand on her shoulder, said,

"Syd, I know I'm speaking for Dixon and Marshall," he paused, "and Vaughn, as well as myself when I say that, whatever you did or didn't do while you were gone, it doesn't matter. We know you're a good person."

He saw the tears welling in her eyes, saw the flash of that heart-breaking brave smile,

"Thank you, Eric," she said, then turned and hurried away.

"Mr. Weiss," Harris said then….

"Call me Eric," Weiss answered.

"Xander. Here," the one-eyed man handed him a bundle of euros off the shelf, "That cover what you paid for the planes?"

"Oh yeah, but that's not necessary."

"Suit yourself, but the idea of these guys paying for their own invasion pleases me. Waddya think, I assume you know this part of the world better than I do, if we distribute the dollars among the villagers will it just get them killed?"

"I think it's a risk they'd be willing to take," Weiss said.

"Good point."

Weiss had found another canvas bag, this one marked US MAIL, and was holding it open for Harris as he scooped the rest of the cash and gold coins off the shelf.

"So, you got it bad," Harris said and Weiss looked up.

"What?"

"The Syd love."

Weiss stared a moment, but saw nothing but friendly sympathy in the man's open face.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Oh, you weren't drooling or anything, but yeah. Not that I blame you. You think you got a chance?"

"Not really, no. She just doesn't … see me."

"Yeah," Harris said softly. "Been there." They were quiet a moment, then Harris slapped his shoulder, said, "Let's get some fresh air, yeah?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The ground floor was bustling with activity now. Caridad had assured Jack that Xander wasn't kidding about destroying the whole compound, so Jack had gone out to the docilely waiting villagers, rounded up those that had worked in the kitchen and set them to preparing a feast with the perishables. Slowly the idea that they were going to be able to gorge on the prime cut steaks, the ice cream, the bacon, eggs, cheeses, the top grade oranges, mangos, peppers, yams and so on that were normally reserved for the whitecoats and the soldiers, was bringing a bit of energy to their movements, a bit more life to their conversations. Those not cooking Jack set to gathering the canned and dry goods and stacking them at one edge of the clearing, making it clear that it was all theirs for the taking, so long as they didn't start fighting amongst themselves…. Still, there'd been a brief flare-up over some canned fruit, but Caridad had tossed the two combatants some twenty feet into the forest and that was the end of that.

He heard the helicopter again. It was definitely circling. He had Dixon monitoring the radio in the communications building, but Marcus hadn't reported any relevant traffic yet. He'd sent Vi around to make sure all the girls standing watch had picked out a bolt-hole to get into if the bird turned out to be a gunship …. They each had also assembled small projectile caches, mostly pieces off the broken compound walls. The hole in the canopy was big enough for an adventurous Blackhawk to drop down into but Jack didn't envy the pilot his reception, the poor bastard would probably never know what hit him, wouldn't believe it if he did.

Things more or less in hand he moved to return downstairs, but stopped when he saw his daughter coming up, cradling a canvas bag like an infant in her arms, followed closely by her grinning entourage, excepting Fields and Martin who looked somewhat less enthused about the impending revelations.

Which meant, Jack assumed, they'd found the crystal. Jack's skepticism was made of sterner stuff than Weiss's, he'd believe Sydney had her memory back when Sydney told him she had her memory back… but he'd been rocked enough to feel a surge of relief, to, in his heart be more concerned about_ wha_t she would remember than _if, _though her letdown would be terrible if it failed.

"C'mon, Doc," Dawn was saying, "tell us. I can just go look it up, you know. No point in being petty. C'mon, is there some big shot in DC gonna start screaming in the middle of his meeting? Some congressional investigator going to suddenly remember what he found here and start barfing on his legislator? You can tell me."

"Nothing so amusing, I'm afraid," Martin answered.

Jack ignored the by-play and approached his daughter,

"Sweetheart?" he asked.

"It's here," she answered. "The crystal. We got it."

"Here," Faith said, reaching out, "give me the bag, you go find somewhere quiet, holler when you're ready and we'll crush the rocks."

"You can use the shelter Weiss built," Dawn said.

"But aren't the wounded…." Irina started.

"Oh, Willow came and got them," Dawn answered, "Go ahead."

Irina stared a moment, puzzled, than shrugged and took Sydney's arm, Jack moved to go with them but Irina stopped, reached out and placed her palm on his chest, came close and speaking softly, said,

"Jack, she may have some… questions. There are just some things a woman wants to …absorb before she discusses them with her father, even one as wise as you."

He watched them walk down the slope to the hastily yet solidly built shelter, the two women that, in the end were the only parts of his life that gave it meaning anymore. A truly wise man, he knew, would have understood that at a much younger age, but still… they were here with him now, the last few days had shown him it was still possible to move beyond the miseries and failures of his past. He had, barring illness or accident, very possibly a third of his life left, perhaps the best part. The drunken, lonely, melancholy dotage that he had seen take so many of his colleagues to an early grave, that he had so often envisioned as his own inevitable fate was no longer written in stone.

He saw Sydney settle down into a half-lotus and take a deep breath, heard Irina offer to leave her alone and Sydney ask her mother to stay.

He watched Buffy rip a slab of reinforced concrete off the blast torn compound wall and lay it down, watched Faith set the bag of crystals down and spread it out, the doomed rocks evenly distributed inside the canvas. He saw Buffy rip another slab off the wall land raise it easily over her head.

"You ready, Syd?" Faith shouted and Syd answered back,

"Ready," and Buffy brought her makeshift hammer down hard, there was a loud _crack!_ of hard surfaces colliding merging into the very brief _crunch_ sound of crystals shattering, and then, as if even the birds and the breeze understood the import of the moment, a deep silence settled down over the compound, with only the distant whup-whup of the helicopter maintaining a rude indifference.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ON THE DEPARTMENT OF SPECIAL RESEARCH JET, ABOUT AN HOUR EAST OF LOS ANGELES**

Jeffrey Schmidt, Director Kendall's long time personal assistant and reliable right hand man, a one time Special Operations Officer, dropped his coffee, looked up from the briefing papers he'd been reading and stared at his boss for a moment.

Then he curled up in his seat, hugged his knees and began to rock back and forth, moaning softly to himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE NOT AT ALL NICE**

Will Tippin was growing increasingly puzzled.

He had guessed right the first time, the passage he had chosen led him to the entrance, or, as he thought of it, _exit_. Unfortunately it had also led him to some six or seven armed men lounging around, playing cards, reading. He'd backed carefully away and went exploring, scratching coded reminders to himself in the rock at each entrance and exit with the knife Sark had left him. He was almost feeling grateful to the man for his moment of meager generosity. And he was growing to love the stiletto…. if he survived this he was going to carry that knife with him always.

He'd found another room full of coffin sized holes in the rock, but instead of the dank prison nature of his own accommodations, this room was set up more like one of those Japanese capsule hotels he'd read about.

Another passage had led him to a minimal if oddly modern kitchen with a couple microwaves and freezer full of the prepared meals like the ones he'd been fed. A large refrigerator was full of …. packets of blood. And a couple other substances he wasn't entirely sure of. A third refrigerator was mostly full of Aquila brand beer. Brewed, he read on the label, in Columbia.

Columbia!? How in the hell … well, he knew how, _why_ Columbia? Why _Columbia?_

Also, Columbia? _Oh, shit!_ Tippin thought, and turned back.

One more unexplored passage left.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

A piercing, half-scream, half-wail broke the tranquil moment,

"Whore! You whore! You fucking WHORE! And you, you sunuvabitch, I'll kill you!"

In the fenced in village where the Initiative staff were currently incarcerated a slight man with a full beard and wire-rim glasses, his hands still bound behind his back was chasing after and trying wildly to kick an equally bound, slightly taller, pudgier man with a short thick beard. A white-coated women trailed after, screaming at 'Edward' to stop and to forgive her.

"It appears that Dr. O'Malley has just remembered the time he found his wife in bed with Dr. Goldberg, performing, as I understand it, a sex act she had adamantly refused to engage in with Dr. O'Malley," Dr. Martin said.

Moments later a second fight broke out, then a third, one man peeled away from the group and lay on his back kicking and screaming, another simply collapsed and began to sob. One woman pressed herself against the fence and began screaming abuse at Martin. Inside the building one of the native women who had been vampire fodder dropped to the floor and began wailing with grief.

"I'm afraid, young lady," Martin said to a clearly startled Dawn, "that very few of those spells were used for security purposes. Most were used to maintain domestic peace. We are a small group of highly intelligent, high-strung individuals, forced to live in very close quarters for a very long period of time. Things happen. Things best forgotten."

He was, well, Weiss decided, not grinning exactly, but certainly smiling, clearly enjoying the fact that Dawn wasn't relishing the fights breaking out amongst the staff as much as she thought she would.

Weiss thought a good punch in the nose might wipe the smirk off the bastard's face and shifted in that direction, just, he noticed, as Harris did the same. But Dawn held up her hand and stopped them, said,

"Easy guys, not now, okay." She looked back at the smirking Martin. "Maybe later."

"C'mon Dawnie," Faith said, "it's not like they don't deserve it, yeah? Besides, look at them, the only thing funnier than fighting geeks is geeks fighting with their hands tied behind their back…." Pointing out two of the women who had squared off in a shin-kicking contest, three of the men tangled up in a scrum of missed head-butts, while the soldiers sat and shook their heads…

Faith had a point, Weiss thought, but pulled his attention away from the floorshow and looked to Sydney. She was a little obscured by the deep shadows in the shelter, but he could see her form, still sitting cross-legged, sagging forward a little, her face in her hands. He felt his heart twist a little in sympathy, ached with not knowing how to help, with wanting to sweep her up and hold her and tell her it would all be okay.

Dixon came out of the communication building, Weiss watched him come trotting over to pull Jack aside, whisper in his ear, saw the look of horror spread across Jack's face even as he realized the sound of the helicopter was getting closer, getting very loud indeed.

Weiss saw Jack start running toward the shelter even as the helicopter appeared overhead, hovering just above the canopy and dropping an air rescue stretcher attached to a loose cable. The stretcher hit the ground and bounced and Irina leapt out of the shelter to grab it, lay it on the ground and step inside, picking up a web belt which she wrapped around her waist and clipped to the cable. Then she bent to retrieve a second belt from the stretcher. She straightened and held out her hand and after an agonizing moment of hesitation Sydney ran out to join her, stepped onto the other side of the stretcher, took the belt, wrapped it around her own torso and attached it to the cable.

Irina waved and the helicopter rose and took them with it, straight up, just out of Jack's leaping reach, then moving faster, up past the canopy. Then they were gone, the helicopter's _whup-whupping_ fading into the distance, leaving Jack alone in the center of the compound, staring upwards, his arms outspread in mute supplication.

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 25: La Morte della Morte**


	26. Chapter 25: La Morte della Morte

**Chapter 25: La Morte della Morte**

A/N: See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias_ notes

_Did you ever take a look into the Penal Code? You have to read as far as page 177 before you come to anything about crimes against human beings._ -----**Georges Simenon,** _Maigret and the Lazy Burglar_

_He knew the truth and was looking for something better._ --------**Jim Dandy. Fat Man in a Famine **_William Saroyan_

**Chapter 25: La Morte della Morte**

**SOMEWHERE NOT AT ALL NICE**

The last passage angled downward, seemed to narrow a little as he hurried along. He came to the last lightbulb and the end of the electrical wiring. He moved on into the increasing darkness.

He turned a corner and found himself in near blackness. There did seem to be slight flickering glow ahead, but he didn't fully trust his senses. But it wasn't like he had a lot of options. He kept moving. He felt the air change, get damper, he was almost sure he could smell the ocean.

He heard voices, echoey, hollow. Two voices, he thought, one male, one female. He moved more slowly, the passage turned again, curving, now he was sure he saw light, flickering…

It was a large cavern, half full of black water that paled a little on the far side. Sunlight? He felt a surge of hope. And terror. Tippin was a good swimmer but that wasn't a dive he was looking forward to.

He crept to the opening and peered out, looking for the source of the voices, and found them quickly. To his left a few steps led down to a wooden platform built out a little over the water, a torch in a wallsconce illuminated a thin, wiry man and a young, rather bedraggled woman, girl, really. She was on her knees, clearly begging, the man answering with casual cruelty, Tippin couldn't follow word for word but he had enough Spanish to get the gist. A ransom had not been paid, the man taunting the women, suggesting her family didn't love her enough to pay, saying her kidnappers had stopped paying the fee for her incarceration.

So let me go, the woman countered, saying she would pay the man herself, maybe her family wouldn't pay a huge ransom not knowing if she was alive, but they would amply reward a rescuer…

The man seemed to consider it moment, then laughed. But what would I do with the money? he said. I'd buy a young girl like you.

Tippin gripped his knife. The odd daydream aside, he'd never thought of himself as the heroic type, but he was damned if was going crouch here and watch a young girl get raped. Beside the man didn't seem to be armed. I'll wait, he thought, not too long, just long enough that the man is in awkward position, then …

But instead of tearing at the girl's clothes or undoing his own the man just reached down and pulled the girl to her feet, pushed her head back to expose her neck. And then he bit her.

Tippin was so surprised he froze for a moment, then a red rage overtook him and he leaped down the steps and ran forward and slammed the knife into the man's back, pulled it free and as the man turned to face him thrust again, driving the blade hilt deep in the man's chest once, twice, a third time before a backhand blow slammed him back against the stone wall. His head ringing, Tippin fought to get air back in his chest as the man he'd attacked stood picking at his shirt as if he was more disturbed by the rips in the fabric than the bloody holes in his chest. Tippin's vision cleared a little as he clambered back to his feet and he saw the fangs, the distorted features…

_Whatthehell?_

But there was no time to wonder, the man was moving toward him now and Tippin held the knife ready … but the man was too fast, before he could move Tippin found himself slammed against the wall again, his knife hand held immobile, his body lifted, the man holding him up with one hand as if Tippin was a helpless child.

"How did you get out, my friend?" The man said. "I should just put you back, I guess. But I liked this shirt, damnit, and Sark is cheap bastard, so, the hell with it…. "

The man ---- _the thing_ --- moved in toward his neck, mouth opening, fangs glistening red with the girl's blood….

And then suddenly the fanged mouth was opening wider still in a scream, there was burst of heat and flame and Tippin fell and found himself on his back, looking up through a cloud of ash at the girl clinging grimly to the still burning torch, her knees just beginning to shake.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

It was quite impressive, really, watching Jack put himself back together. Weiss felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach, he couldn't begin to imagine how Jack must hurt.

But Jack simply let his hands drop slowly to his sides, he straightened first his back, then his clothes and turned and walked purposefully back up toward the compound, he paused, spoke to Harris,

"Do I understand correctly that you do not require the Initiative helicopter for your transportation?"

"It's all yours," Harris answered, "and Jack, we have work to finish here, but as soon as that's done, we're at your disposal, any way we can help."

"Thank you," Jack answered, "Mr. Dixon, would you be kind enough to get the engine warmed up?"

"Of course," Dixon answered.

"Miss Summers," Jack said, turning to Dawn, "this memory spell… If there had been some sort brainwash protocol put in place during the … missing time, is it possible it would re-activate when the spell was broken?"

"I don't enough about brainwashing to really answer that, but with the Lethe's Bramble spell, which is what Andrew identified as affecting Sydney, you get everything back when the crystal breaks… So I'd say it's possible."

"Thank you. If you have time I would be grateful if you would transfer the entirety of my daughter's file to one of the hard drives….?"

"Of course."

"Dr. Fields, I do not have time for the niceties. I am going to ask you a broad question, if you are vague or false in your answer I will at some time repay you with a great deal of pain. Is there anything in your work with my daughter that would have placed her under Irina Derevko's control?"

"It's been over two years since she was in my care, Mr. Bristow. And I don't respond well to threats."

"Mr. Harris," Jack said, "I don't wish to undermine your…"

"Hey everybody!" Harris said loudly, "look, it's the rare Whatsathingy bird!" he added, pointing with a grand gesture toward the far side of the compound. Unable to help himself, and knowing he didn't really want to watch anyway, Weiss looked.

There was a high, trailing scream.

"Is the chip still in place?" Fields said weakly.

"No."

"Then my work is no longer affecting her. I swear! Please, I swear. I have no idea why she did what she did."

"Thank you." Jack said politely. "Mr. Weiss?"

"Yes?"

"Contact Marshall and..." He broke off as Dixon called down,

"Jack, she …. it's been disabled. I think I can fix it but it will take some time, twenty minutes, half hour."

"I see. Thank you, Mr. Dixon, if you would…?"

Dixon nodded and went back toward the helicopter. "I will contact Marshall myself," Jack said, "but thank you Mr. Weiss."

"Anything I can do to help, Mr. Bristow. She wouldn't … she wouldn't go off without talking to you if she had any choice."

"Yes. I know," Jack said, heading for the control room.

Weiss had lost his appetite for fresh new horrors, so he casually wandered away as Harris began organizing the basement raiding party, joining in a brief debate between Buffy and Dawn over whether they should spare the slayers as much ugliness as possible or use it as a educational exercise.

He thought for moment of following Jack, but that didn't appeal, he thought of helping Dixon but knew he would only be in the way. He tried to think of something useful to do but drew a blank. At loose ends he wandered toward the shelter, knowing it was because it was where she had been last, and feeling foolish, but going anyway. Getting closer he saw a flash of white and remembered he'd never had the chance to pick up the cards he'd tossed in the air on Willow's arrival.

They were in a neat stack, placed against one the base poles, one of the girls must have gathered them. He bent to pick them up and his eye caught a bit of light deeper in the shadows. It was, he found, an open cellphone that, on his touch came to life, displaying a picture of a bound man holding a newspaper. At first the face didn't register, then suddenly he understood. Tippin. He turned and ran to show Jack.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Told you," Dawn said, laughing.

Buffy pouted, "God, Xander," she said, "What have you been doing to these girls?"

"It's a Hellmouth, Buff," he answered. "And a big city. They patrol. They see things."

The basement level was deep, really divided into two levels itself, with catwalks running over the cages covered in a thick but transparent ceilings. Catwalks now rattling as ten slayers scampered along them, shouting to one another, things like, "Ewww! Gross!" and "Check this one out!" and "Hey, guys, you won't believe this one!" and "This row is boring."

The top levels were pretty dry, considering the climate, but down here the water level had defeated engineering, the walls were wet, sweating rivulets of greenish fluid that ran into the drains to be expelled by three steadily working pumps. The air was dank, smelled of antiseptics and …. other things.

There was an office area and Dawn went in and, much to Martin's annoyance, began digging around, reading notebooks….

"Young lady…." Martin started.

"Oh, please, Doc, you're not gonna get stupid about federal offenses again are you?"

"No. Those are…. Private."

"Oh, I think you forfeited private a long time ago Doc. We've seen your work, what could you possibly have left to be ashamed of?"

"It's just that… those are personal."

"Oh. I see. Tell you what, Doc. You tell me all about this Rambaldi guy and save me some boring reading, maybe I'll keep these to myself. Hold out, and I'll give these to your staff to read while they're waiting."

"Bad bargain, girl," Dr. Fields interjected, "Rambaldi is pure bullshit. An old man's pipe dream…"

"You know nothing, Yvonne," Martin snapped, "You haven't been to Zurich, you haven't seen Sloanes' full collection. Rambaldi was either a genius or gifted with knowledge of the future. Or both, as I believe."

"Yeah, yeah, and if he learned how to live forever how come he hasn't published for five hundred years?"

"Maybe he has. Under different names of course. Perhaps Röntgen. Maybe Bohr. Planck."

"Sure. Why not Einstein while you're at it?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, please."

"Hey!" Dawn said. "Details."

"Milo Rambaldi, officially, lived from 1444 to 1496. However, in his writings, among other things, have been found examples of machine code, drawings and detailed descriptions of transistors, and cell phones, though of course those terms weren't used. And, most interesting from our point of view, detailed descriptions of DNA coding. He also designed and either built or had built a number of intricate devices, many of which still function. A number of his designs have been built in modern times, and worked, including one that may well be an infinite energy source…."

"So, what's that got to do with demons?"

"I'm getting there. My point is that while many of his contemporaries thought him mad, history has proven him … accurate, if not necessarily sane. To my knowledge he has never made a verifiable claim that did not prove to be true. He has a certain credibility. Nevertheless, when, late in his life, he began to write about encountering ancient beings who had conquered death, all but his most diehard supporters lost faith. He began to draw strange creatures, creatures with horns and tentacles, who yet walked upright, sometimes wore clothing and often carried weapons. He drew men, and women, beautiful women, with fangs….

"At this point even his friends began to think him demented, and began to suppress his writing. Fortunately it seems, they couldn't bear to actually destroy his work, but they tried to keep it hidden. They failed, and he was ex-communicated, for heresy. One version has it that it was for saying that through science we would know God. Another version is that he was said to be consorting with devils.

"Of course, we have since identified a number of the demons he depicted, including Fyarls, a Quarshink, Brackens, Kailifs, and, of course, we now know vampires exist. Rambaldi it seems, was still accurate."

"However, because of his friends' concerns, the bulk of his later writings were hidden, quite thoroughly, and have only recently come to light, largely through the tireless efforts of Arvin Sloane…"

"Our sponsor," Fields noted, "Our very rich, very generous sponsor, God Forbid anyone suggest he's a few apples short of a pie."

"Just because your work has continuously failed to live up to projections…."

"Hey! Bicker on your own time," Dawn demanded. "So, he encountered demons..."

"He began his last great work …. As Milo Rambaldi, anyway. _La Morte della Morte. The Death of Death. _Several years ago, Mr. Sloane unearthed Volume One." Martin reached up, pulled an oversized but quite modern book off the shelf. "This is, of course, a copy. It is the most complete study of demon anatomy and chemical makeup, reproductive cycles and dietary habits, I believe, in the world today, and will be surpassed only by my own work here, done, I must admit, with vastly superior technical tools."

"So," Dawn said in aside to Buffy who was lounging in the doorway, "I guess we've got Giles' Christmas present covered for this year."

"What?!" Martin said.

"Still in that denial phase, Doc?" Dawn said. "Nevermind. Don't quit now. You've got Volume One…"

"The latter third of which is concerned with what Rambaldi described as Demon Essences, the supernatural component that gave each demon its specific powers, its apparently eternal vitality. It is mostly speculation, designs for planned experiments, lists of spells and rituals that might be used in tandem with Rambaldi's mechanical and alchemical skills to isolate and eventually transplant these essences into humans without the human having to die and lose his or her soul. Rambaldi did, it seems, believe in souls."

"He's not wrong," Buffy said from the doorway.

"You say that as if you have proof," Martin said, turning to her.

"I don't know about proof," she answered. "But I have knowledge."

"So." Dawn said, drawing Martin back, "did he succeed?"

"I believe so, but, the details, the descriptions of his actual experiments are in Volume Two. Which sadly, is a bit of a mystery."

Fields snorted.

"What?" Dawn asked.

"Volume Two," Martin said stiffly, "surfaced six months ago, at a very discreet, elite auction house, seller unknown. It was examined by experts and declared authentic, even though it was dated fifteen years after Rambaldi's official death. Mr. Sloane paid a very significant sum. Unfortunately, in the process of translating the text for our use, Mr. Sloane and his team determined that the book was, in fact, a forgery."

"Oh. How…?"

"Line forty-seven, page forty seven," Fields said gleefully, "when viewed with a black light, revealed an inscription written in English, in ink which is clearly _underneath_ the Latin words visible to the naked eye in normal light. The line is, and I quote, _'Arvin Sloane is a doodoo head'. _Which is a bit much for even the most ardent believer in Rambaldi's clairvoyance."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ABOVE THE DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

On the whole, Julian Sark preferred to play the dominant role in his sexual practices. Nevertheless, standing with his hands meekly raised as Irina Derevko, sweaty, breathing hard, pressed a rather large caliber handgun to his forehead gave him a distinctly erotic chill. The sight of Sydney Bristow, bosom similarly heaving, looking, as always in Sark's experience, four parts puzzled and six parts pissed at the world was an added bonus. Sark liked his women elegant, but these two could walk any runway in the world wearing khakis spattered with blood and mud and leave the bulimic bimbos in the latest designs forgotten in their wake.

Irina ran her hand up and down his body, took the pistol from the small of his back, the switchblade from his pocket. She guided him up front to handcuff him in the co-pilot's seat, then relieved Sark's pilot of his weaponry as well. She motioned for Sark to pick up a headset, took one herself.

"Tell your pilot he'd taking orders from me now," she said.

"You heard the lady," Sark said and the pilot nodded. Irina gave instructions to turn around and fly to Panama City, landing details to be supplied later.

"This isn't necessary, Irina," Sark said, "I have quite pleasant accommodations prepared, exactly as you specified…"

"I'm sure you do, Julian, and a lovely welcoming committee as well."

"Only a four star chef and several bottles of…."

"Julian, please, don't insult my intelligence. I like you, Julian. I really do. I'm not in the least offended by your flexible loyalties. But I must take them into consideration, mustn't I? Now, be a good boy and don't cross me the rest of the way and I'll still uphold my end of the bargain. But if you interfere from this point on, if you endanger Sydney in anyway … Well, I know you're more afraid of Arvin than you are of me. That is a mistake, Julian. Do please correct it. Now, did you bring the supplies I asked for?"

He pointed at a small leather satchel just behind the pilot's seat. She took it and withdrew into the main body of the helicopter. Sark spent a couple minutes reassuring the pilot that he would be paid in cash and not with a bullet in the neck, that Irina certainly had a plan to deal with the authorities if an anti-narcotics unit happened to take notice of the unscheduled flight.

He glanced back, saw that Sydney was shouting but the engine noise was too loud for him to make out what she was saying. He watched Irina stand with her arms outspread, in one hand she held a tranq pistol, in the other a couple of pills were visible on her open palm. Sydney paused a moment, then pouted and angrily snatched the pills and popped them in her mouth and swallowed, stuck out her tongue. Irina shook her head and raised the gun and Sydney made a rude hand gesture and swallowed again. Moments later she began to sway and Irina set the tranq gun down and stepped forward and eased her daughter down into the padded stretcher, took a pillow from the tiny supply cabinet and placed it under her head. She settled down cross-legged at Sydney's side, reached over to smooth her hair out of her eyes, resting her hand gently on her forehead for a moment. Then Irina dug in the supplies again, came out with some packaged wipes and began, all mother-cat, to carefully clean her daughter's slowly relaxing face.

Sark smiled and settled back in his seat. She had been right, of course, Sloane's men were waiting at the airfield in Columbia. But he was just as happy things had worked out this way. Whatever Irina might say, Sloane was still scarier. But fear wasn't everything. It was a fool that ignored it, but an even greater fool that let fear rule him.

Besides, he had grown quite fond of Irina himself. _"I like you, Julian."_ That had given him a pleasant little buzz. Of course Sloane had said much the same thing once, but it wasn't the same. Wasn't the same at all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LOS ANGELES**

It was like being back in training, playing lose-the-tail in an American city. They took cabs, they took buses, they separated and rendezvoused, watching each other's back. They went in malls on one side, bought new clothes and went out the other side. Then when they were certain they were clear they appeared at the Pearson Arms where the door to 212 opened as they approached and Dwayne welcomed them inside.

They found Marshall and Carrie working busily in the computer room.

"Marshall," Vaughn said, "do Jack and Sydney have anything to do with what's going in on Panama? Do you know what is going on in Panama?"

Marshall started, sat staring at Lauren and Vaughn like a near-sighted deer in very bright headlights.

"I was just talking to Jack," Marshall said, and turned back to his screen.

"Marshall!" Lauren started but Vaughn put his hand on her arm.

"Carrie?" he said gently.

"He's trying to re-task all available satellites and radar systems to observe air traffic in the area. Jack, Sydney, Dixon and Weiss and this Harris person and his group have apparently taken over some black budget military research station in Panama, Sydney's run off with Irina and Will Tippin's been kidnapped. Dwayne?"

"Yes?"

"You think you could make some more of that tea? Why don't you go with Dwayne, have some of his really great poppy-seed cake and we'll let you know if we find out anything useful, okay?"

"I can do coffee, too, if you'd rather. I've got some rather nice shade-grown organic beans from Guatemala," Dwayne said. "Or would you prefer tea?"

**-30-**

**Next: Chapter 26: Julia Unbound**


	27. Chapter 26: Julia Unbound

**Chapter 26: Julia Unbound**

**A/N**: See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias _notes

**Simon:** _While we're waiting…You haven't told me how you met Julia. Were you like, uh…like _lovers _or something?_  
**Jack:** _No, not exactly…_  
**Simon:**_ I asked if you were lovers, because if you ever get the chance… I _highly_ recommend it. _

**Irina:** _You're so willing to take risks for your country. Why aren't you willing to do the same for your own happiness?_

**Chapter 26: Julia Unbound**

**PANAMA CITY, PANAMA**

There was just the one face in the mirror, but two voices in her head.

That was a lie. There was only the one voice. There was only Sydney, talking to herself. She had news to share. But it was a trained agent's way of coping with a little cognitive dissonance, to compartmentalize, play roles.

It was either that or collapse in hysterical laughter. Then cry her eyes out. Or vice versa.

Julia laughed at Sydney.

_You thought Julia was an aberration, an impostor who would disappear once you returned? I am you. I am what you became. You are the throwback, I am the evolution. _

You had a chip put in your head. You were tortured. Drugged. You are a symptom of abuse.

_Pot, kettle much? Same head, remember. Tortured, drugged. Yes. By the same government that I had given my life too. My friends' lives. The drugs are gone, the wounds healed, the dungeon behind us. It is not weakness to learn from experience. Quite the opposite. Literacy is a symptom of learning to read. Julia is a symptom of Sydney learning to see. _

Look at our father, who sacrificed his life and ours fighting a futile war with an enemy that in so many ways never really existed. Our own actions creating the enemies needed to justify our existence. So stupid. Believing our own bullshit.

And how are we repaid? Suspicion. Prison. Death. There is no honor in serving the whip, Sydney. At long last you set aside the bravado and the jingo and looked at the world around you. You grew up, Sydney. You became me.

A killer.

_You were a killer before. I simply insist on choosing the targets._

You took assignments. For money.

_All right. Right of refusal, then. I could have taken many more contracts than I did. I used my own judgment. Had my own purpose. Whose judgment did you use? Who's goals did you serve? Sloane's? Lindsey's? Just because you worked for civil servant's pay doesn't make your money any cleaner than mine. Just …. less. Much less. _

This is pointless. Irrelevant.

_Agreed. You see? We are one._

For a moment the voices fell silent. Then, softly….

You let Vaughn go.

_And now you know why. _

,  
She had woken in a soft bed, on satin sheets, wearing silk pajamas, her hair done up in an intricate french cascade braid that 'Mrs. Schonaur' had done once for Julia in Rome. Her mother's way of telling her she had handled her bathing and dressing personally. Without, Sydney hoped, Sark's assistance. She reached down and touched the scar on her abdomen. It felt natural now. She knew how it was made.

She stopped staring in the mirror. She washed the sleep from her eyes. Brushed her teeth. She went back out into the bedroom, opened the closet and smiled at the clothing options, a bit of Julia style flash, a bit of Sydney style conservatism, her mother clearly hoping to gain a little insight from her selection. Two could play that game, she selected white linen pants and a purple tank top, attire both Syd and Julia would wear to lounge around the house.

She started toward the door and stopped. She wasn't quite ready yet, there was information to process.

Simon was dead. Killed by her father. Syd had known and not cared, this was Julia's loss.

She tested the emotional waters. She did not blame him, not with her head. Not with her heart. Simon was bound to die that way sooner or later, she'd always known that. That it was Jack Bristow who pulled the trigger was as much her fault as his. At least she hadn't done the deed herself, as she had with Noah.

She'd loved Noah. Simon … had been what, surely not love, not really. A crush. Infatuation. Her heart had quickened when he called, life was a little more vivid when he was there. She had daydreamed of him as she had once done with Vaughn, except with Vaughn she had thought of them as _plans._ With Simon, she knew they were just idle fantasies.

She had daydreamed about living with Vaughn in a house in the country.

With Simon she had daydreamed about stealing diamonds.

She had memories … his body hot and hard moving against hers, with hers, his voice quiet and calm with command as he'd laid out the plan for the Algiers job. His competence, in bed and out had been exciting, his upfront amorality refreshing, and, truth be told, Simon had been the first man she'd been with who, though appreciative of her assets and abilities remained unsmitten, even indifferent. It was … new. Novel. A challenge. Not love. That she would never see him again was … disappointing. A little itch that would never be scratched. But it didn't hurt. Much. Really.

She smiled sadly. She remembered hanging with Dawn and Buffy now, remembered an idle Wednesday night convo she'd had with Buffy once about their mutual taste for bad boys, both needing, as Buffy put it, a little monster in her man.

At the time of course she'd been thinking, a bit smugly, that by bad boy Buffy probably meant a guy with a full-back tattoo who been in a bar fight once, while she was thinking Noah the hitman, and Simon the world class thief. And monster … "Oh, I could tell you some stories about monsters, little girl," Syd had thought. _Thank god she hadn't said it out loud._ Someday, if she got up the courage she might ask Dawn just what exactly _Buffy_ meant by _monster._

Simon was dead. Will was alive. Julia hadn't known he'd survived. It was a good trade, one she'd make any time, Simon for Will. Put like that, the hurt faded fast. Simon for Will. Deal.

Will was alive. Now, the thing was, to keep him that way.

She found her mother sitting on a porch swing in a screened patio overlooking a walled courtyard, drinking from a green bottle of _Panama_ beer. By the sun it was noon, maybe a little past.

She had meant to be cool, all business, one pro to another now that Irina had dropped her mask. But this… this _hurt._ She couldn't contain it.

She remembered now, how her mother had taken her in when Allison had rescued her, had freed her from the chip and the drugs whose power had terrified her, helped her through the nightmares, nursed her back to health, found her the apartment. She remembered the good times they'd had together in Rome. She remembered how it was her mother she had run to when once again she'd needed help. She remembered the last few days, her father's smile, her mother's laughter.

The tears welled and overflowed, her voice broke, "Why?" She wailed. "I would have just given it to you, you only had to ask."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

Dixon held out a small tube of paper,

"I found this wrapped around one of the detached wires in the chopper," he said.

Jack Bristow unrolled the read the message written in a reduced, very fine but familiar hand. It said,

"Dear Jack:

Sydney is well and in no danger, and, as I'm sure you knew, was coerced into coming with me.

Jack, if this goes as I hope, then you will have all the time in the world to forgive me. If not…. I truly wish you no evil, but I know your life as I know mine, if I perhaps belong in a lower level I feel confident that we will both end in Hell. Perhaps you will forgive me there.

Please believe me when I say this last week has been one of the happiest in my life.

All my love,

Irina

Jack looked up at Dixon, nodded his thanks, wondering if there was some hidden message he was missing. It wasn't like Irina to speak so seriously of damnation.

"Nothing helpful," he said.

"You still want me to warm it up?" Dixon asked.

"No, it's too late to even try to follow. We'll have to see if Marshall comes up with anything."

Dixon nodded. Dixon's wife had been killed by a car bomb. Sometimes Jack envied him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Let's get this over with," Xander said. Dawn took up her post at the security control unit, remotely opening each cage as its turn came.

There was a creature with one human head and one demon head, locked in perpetual argument. In the corner of the cage was pile of skulls as, Dawn explained, the demon occasionally tore the human head loose and enjoyed half an hour of blessed silence before a fresh head regrew and the dispute began again. Not even the sight of an armed slayer approaching slowed the discussion, until the single sword blow took both heads and declared the debate a draw.

There was a human torso with a snake's head and spider legs.

There was round ball of pinkish flesh that seemed to be nothing but open sores.

There was a human skeleton that seemed to serve as mobile scaffolding for a swarm of foot long winged leeches, forming and reforming the muscle patterns, like an animated illustration from Gray's anatomy. Xander had to use the flame-thrower they'd found in the armory on that one.

There were things that looked wholly human but bled blue pus.

There was something that looked very much like a cross between an aardvark and a sousaphone, that knelt in humble gratitude and waited for the axe to fall.

There was all manner of reptile-human hybrids.

There were things to give Clive Barker nightmares, or perhaps a hard-on. Or, of course, possibly both.

There were woolly creatures with big eyes that would have softened the heart of the most ardent fur coat aficionado, right up until the moment when the skin peeled back and the claws and fangs erupted.

They found four vampires hiding in a closet, three more in a dark corridor.

There was a creature that looked exactly like a man in a rubber Godzilla suit, so much so the young slayer whose turn it was tried to make him take it off and had had to be rescued by a laughing Faith.

There was all manner of human insectoid interminglings.

There was one creature that made three slayers, Dawn, Xander and Dr. Fields barf on sight, without any sense of shame.

There was a small pen of vampire peccaries.

There was a steadily increasing stench of long-festering death. And other things, mostly festering as well. Or oozing.

Faith had passed out the cigars, and while puffing Buffy gave Xander the giggles, the smoke didn't really help much.

There was a cage with an elderly ape, and Buffy hesitated, "You don't suppose it's just a gorilla?" she said.

"Yes," it said, "that's all. Just a poor gorilla. …Oops."

There was a decided lack of normal humans with demonic powers.

"Not really going that well, is it, Doc?" Dawn said, wearily, without an iota of sarcasm, all sense of fun having been drained away half-way down the first row.

Some of the creatures went to their deaths willingly, some fought back wildly, some didn't seem to notice and had to be completely dismembered. When they were half way done the first group of slayers went upstairs and sent the others down.

Finally, they were finished, Dawn loaded up the last three slayers with heaping armloads of books from Martin's office, including the private notebooks. Martin started to protest, then thought better of it.

"You guys go ahead, we're gonna have a last look around, then we'll be up in a few," Dawn said then waited until she was pretty sure the junior slayers were out of earshot.

"What is it, Dawn?" Xander asked. "We didn't miss anything. I double-checked."

"There's another room. I couldn't send those girls in there. I don't even want to send you guys but…."

"Geez, Dawn, what…." Faith started, then stopped her eyes widening as the thought struck her.

"Yeah," Dawn said. "The nursery."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Weiss stirred the pile of burning clothes with the longest stick he could find and still lift. He could hear shouts of laughter as the slayers raided the scientist's living quarters, looting replacements for their demon-blood-drenched cast-offs. Fine physical specimens, slayers, he thought, just as platonically as he possibly could. The stench from the clothes helped with that.

"Renee says hello," a voice whispered in his ear, warm lips pressed quick kiss on his cheek before Weiss' reflexes could react and launch him a quick three feet to his right.

"Gah!" he shouted, looked and saw the redhead was back. "That's not as funny as you think it is," he said reproachfully.

"Depends on your point of view. The kiss is from Renee too, by the way, so don't get any ideas, buster."

"I wouldn't dare."

"Hey, I'm not that bad," she pouted. "Have they been telling you stories about me?"

Only that you're going to destroy this whole place with a wave of your hand and that the reason they're slaughtering all the demons first is so that you don't have to. Cause sometimes when you kill things you get carried away, he thought.

"Nope, not a word," he said.

"Good. So, did I miss anything?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PANAMA CITY, PANAMA**

"Why?" Sydney wailed. "I would have just given it to you, you only had to ask."

"Yes, well, you were being such a clever, clever girl I didn't know you had it until you'd forgotten where you put it."

"That's what this was all about then? This whole charade was about that stupid book?"

She remembered;

She was Julia Thorne and she was in Algiers because Sydney Bristow was bored with Rome. She was tired of movies and museums and books she'd always meant to read. And this charming man had called her, said he got her name from Irina Derevko, was she possibly interested in doing a little job in Algeria? Quick little in and out, week, two weeks tops. She was.

It was a museum job. B and E. It wasn't exactly a mission to save the world, but it was a little action. It would have to do. She put on big sunglasses and a blonde wig and played the bored wife to Simon's earnest scholar, flirting with the tour guides and the guards … while Simon discreetly photographed the security measures.

There was section in the museum, old photographs of archaeological expeditions, men in white suits posing over broken statues or collections of pottery … the guard for that room was particularly proud of one picture. His father was in it, one of the brown men in the background, foreman for the local labor …

"The one's who really did the work," Syd had gushed.

"And made the real finds. And sometimes kept the them," the man said with a wink, "if the lead archaeologist was a real bastard. Like that one." She moved on then, but she noted the name. And over the hole in the wall where the men were posing, the eye of Rambaldi.

She'd come back a month later, after the noise from the museum theft had died down. Now a brunette, sharply dressed, all business, authorized representative of a wealthy but discreet collector. She'd found the father, wangled a quiet look through his mementos. Her heart leapt when she saw the book. It was perfect. The vague thought suddenly became a full-blown plan. Now she had a mission. Life was better that way. The novels, the food, the movies, they were all better if they weren't the _only_ thing, as long she knew she had a purpose. She haggled just enough to avoid suspicion, but paid the father well and took the book.

She had research to do. She needed the perfect forger. She missed Marshall, but she would have to do without. She did a couple jobs with Simon to pay for her endeavors. She did a couple more on her own to establish her criminal credentials. She made connections.

She found the perfect forger. He was retired. He was a half-crippled old man, with a thick curly beard and a Russian accent. He lived in Naples, with two beautiful young ladies he introduced as his nieces, then sent giggling away when it came time to talk business. He looked the book over, made some notes, showed her some samples of his work. He smiled as she told him of the special features she required. He was the one, the man she needed.

How much, she asked. But he didn't need the money. He reached out and felt her arm, laid his hand along her cheek and looked into her eyes. I want what you want, he told her. The meal best eaten cold. He had almost given up. But here she was, like fate. An avenging angel, justice for the man who'd sent is father to the gulag, half a lifetime ago. Under the circumstances it seemed an appropriate price. The deal was struck. The book was done. With the special features she'd required. Andrian Lazerey died. The forged copy was delivered.

She sat them side by side, fake and original, on the coffee table in the Rome apartment, staring as the matching Rambaldi eyes stared back. She wondered for a moment if she'd fallen victim to Rambaldi's spell. She had blood on her hands. But Lazerey had been a bastard, was still a bastard to his death, had made a smooth transition from cruel apparatchik to cruel gangster in the Russian mob. She had checked him out herself. He had indeed sent the forger's father to the camps and taken his property, had done the same to others. She could live with his death. She leafed through the pages with little interest in the contents and decided no, she was no victim, no follower, her agenda was her own, Rambaldi was _her_ tool for a change.

"That's what this was all about then? This whole charade was about that stupid book?"

"No. Well, yes, but not all, Sydney. Don't try to make it simple, all black and white. I want the book. Yes. But I want my daughter back, too. The one I got to know in Rome. The one that finally got to know me."

"I don't know you at all. Obviously."

"Oh, Sydney, don't be dramatic."

A slim black man in a white uniform came out on the patio then, carrying a tray with sandwiches, beer, white wine, a pitcher of orange juice. Suddenly ravening, Sydney took a sandwich, bit and chewed petulantly.

Truth was, she wanted it back, too. Her mother, the acerbic, down-to-earth, funny friend she'd gotten to know in Rome. She wanted the whole thing, her mother and her father, like they were the last few days. But how, when she could never ever be sure if her mother spoke the truth or lied to serve some hidden purpose. How could her father ever even think of dropping his guard again?

Her mother waited as she ate. Her mother outlasted her. _As always._

"So, aren't you going to ask me if I remember?"

"Obviously you do." Her mother reached down and picked up a small black purse, opened it and retrieved a pen and a three by five card. She wrote quickly, passed the card over to Sydney who read the name of a bank and a number.

"It's in the Cayman's. It's the money from the sale, I moved it just to be sure Arvin couldn't try to recover it. I moved…. all of 'Julia's' assets, I have the records back in Havana, you'll find them all in order…"

"Mother…"

"I'm so proud of you, you know. Well, I guess it's not the first time you fooled Arvin, but a cold con like that…" Her mother laughed. "I put a bid in too, you know. But obviously I couldn't match Arvin."

"What I don't understand is how he found out so quickly…"

"He didn't."

"But those demons came after me the next day…"

"Those weren't Arvin's. They were the Initiative's. Martin's."

"But I thought… Dawn said Omnifam, and therefore Sloane, was like a partner…"

"And a big source of funds, right. In other words, someone they don't want to piss off. Look, I'm guessing a little bit. But only a little. The raid on your apartment, that was Kendall's operation. The plan was to kidnap you two and blame the Covenant. It was just a bit of fate that you and Allison were having a gunfight that evening. Bit of luck really, or would have been if Allison had survived. If she hadn't been turned and escaped… well, thank god for vampires, yes?"

"Well…."

"So, officially you're dead, and that's when Kendall realizes that Arvin really does care about you. Whether as a Rambaldi heir or out of some genuine avuncular feeling, or both, you'll have to decide for yourself. Maybe just as his property. But Kendall realizes that telling Arvin he's got you locked in a dungeon with a chip in your head is not going to be good for business. But before he can decide what to do about it, Allison busts you out and you disappear. So all he can do is worry and wait, after awhile it seems to have blown over. A year, two years pass. Then Martin, who is a Rambaldi scholar, is one of the experts called in to verify the book. He attended the auction. And guess who he saw sitting in the back row?"

"I couldn't resist. I made sure Sloane didn't see me. I don't think… I don't remember seeing Martin at the Initiative. But I guess he would have had ample opportunity to see me without being seen. That part I still don't remember all that clearly."

"Ah, _c'est la vie._ It happens. Martin called Kendall, Kendall panicked, had Martin send the heavy mob, you came to me, and … I made the deal."

"But why… If _you_ knew about the Initiative, what good did it do to take just my memory?"

"Because Kendall trusted me not to tell. In the first place, as a wanted international criminal, I had a lot of incentive to keep my mouth shut. More importantly, if I did, he could have you killed in retribution, and he knew I'd never risk that. But you… He knew if you ever realized the full extent of their program, you'd blow the whistle, no matter the risk… Of course, I'd made him think that you and I both knew a whole lot more than we did, but … what can I say, at the time it seemed like the best solution..."

"I understand," Syd said.

"Of course at the time I didn't know anything about your little scam. It wasn't until word of the forgery leaked out that I put two and two together."

"So, how long did it take…"

"About a month. At least that's when the word got around."

"Which clue did he find? I left three."

"Line forty-seven," her mother said, smiling. "People in the know may still look both ways first, but they're laughing at the name Arvin Sloane."

"God, I wish I could have been there. He does know it was me, right?"

"Oh, yes. He went back to the auction house in a rage. Of course the money was long gone but there was security footage, one look at Miss Wilhelmina Degroot, representing the anonymous South African seller and he knew, wig and glasses notwithstanding. Of course by that time he knew you were alive, back at the CIA, suffering from amnesia. I think you'd actually been to see him a couple times."

"He went over the authentication records, he was convinced that there was a real book, that you'd pulled a switch … how did you manage to set that up without giving up the big secret, anyway? Arvin, and I don't want the book because it's collectible. We want the information..."

"...In the last third of the book. Yes. We put a locking frame over the last third of the book, the authenticators were allowed to pick any five pages at random from the remaining pages for content analysis and testing purposes and they were allowed to take samples from the binding. Any one who didn't like it didn't have to bid. The book was kept in an extremely secure location. I oversaw the security arrangements myself. Or Miss Degroot did."

Her mother laughed in appreciation.

"And the night before the auction Simon and I broke in and swapped the fake for the real one. Of course he thought we were just doing a high class b and e for hire. Really impressed him with how well I'd cased the joint. Simon never cared much about the package, he just liked the action. And the money. If he'd known how much I actually stood to make compared to what I paid him…." She trailed off, then finished with the truth, "he'd of killed me."

"Ah, the lovely Mr. Walker."

"What? Mom, please tell me you didn't…."

"What? Oh. No, I never slept with Simon. But I've been with a few like him…" her mother smiled, went away for a moment and came back. "But Simon… was very good at his work." Her mother leaned forward, looked at her closely. "Were you…."

"Lovers? Yes. In love…. no."

"Good. But, my condolences, anyway."

They sat silent, Sydney poured herself a glass of juice and drank, picked up another sandwich, this time she won the waiting game.

"It _is_ real, then?" her mother said, with a slight… eagerness in her tone that put Syd on edge a little.

"Of course…. All this and you didn't even know if it was real?"

"One is … never certain. Arvin was convinced. That's why he told Lindsey the information in your memory could destroy Kendall, told him the real goods would be in this book you'd hidden…. "

"So much for avuncular affection…"

"Arvin was never one to let feelings interfere with his goals…. I truly think Arvin counts me as a friend, but that didn't stop him sending Sark to capture me… My mistake, letting my guard down, but it never occurred to me that Arvin would be using vampires. I found out about his connection to the Initiative at the same time you did."

Her mother dropped her empty beer bottle in the waiting crate, picked through the sandwiches and selected one, stood and went to peer out through the screen for a moment before turning back.

"Sydney, you have to understand, I've been improvising here. I had a long term plan, to find some way to force the Initiative to give back your memory… either through blackmail or force… but I was only just beginning to do the research. Then Sloane sent Sark, who was holding me in the gilded cage, waiting for Arvin to come and do the interrogation himself… I was actually planning to tell him everything. I thought if anyone could force the Initiative to give back the crystal it would be Arvin. You'd get your memory back. You'd give us the book. Maybe the money, but who knows. Arvin's funny that way. For the real book he might have let you keep the money."

"No, he wouldn't."

"No, I suppose not. But that's not really the issue, is it? He wouldn't hurt you. He'd know if he did he'd have to kill Jack and me as well if he ever wanted to sleep soundly again. We'd all live happily ever after… I knew you wouldn't be pleased, but you'd be alive and well and whole….

"But one day I overheard the guards talking about a Slayer being in town. I thought whatthehell, it would be better to negotiate with Arvin if I wasn't actually his prisoner. I rolled the dice, managed to get a note to her… and next thing I know, you and Jack show up, all hell breaks loose, and we all spend the night tied to a chairs, listening to Faith and Harris do the Cuban tango. And you know the rest."

"No," Sydney said. "What I don't know is why you didn't tell me all this back in Havana."

"I didn't dare, Sydney. You, and your father, have a tendency to indulge in self-righteous tantrums, to the point of self-destruction sometimes. The moment I told you there was a Rambaldi artifact involved there would have been nothing but suspicion and recrimination, even if you didn't get up and leave right away we would never have had that time together, and whether you believe me or not, I wanted that time. I want to have more of it. But I _need_ that book, Sydney."

"Why? What's so goddamned important about that book? Why is that book more important… than me. Than Dad?"

"Because I don't want to die, Sydney."

"Nobody wants to die, Mom."

"All right. Because I'm _terrified_ of dying, Sydney…. We talked about this, after I …. left, I wasn't exactly made a Hero of the Soviet Union. My own people put me in prison. They suspected that I loved your father. Just as your father was put in prison by his people. They suspected him of loving his wife. God, Sydney, if nothing else we say here today sticks, learn a lessen from that, please.…

"So. My life was shit, Sydney. My family was gone. My career was gone. My freedom was gone. But I survived. I fought back, Sydney. The world changed and I found an opening, I worked hard, I was ruthless… I was what I had to be. But the world was what it was and so was I. I made enemies and buried them. People who got in my way got hurt. It wasn't easy, Sydney, it wasn't zoom, straight to the top. It was up, down, up again.

I made money. I wanted something more. Arvin Sloane had introduced me to Rambaldi, back when he and Jack were friends. Arvin and I kept in touch over the years, he brought me back to Rambaldi. I was never a religious person, I never saw Rambaldi as some kind of savior the way Arvin does, I saw Rambaldi as a knowledge seeker who had found what he was looking for. He _knew._ I wanted to know what he knew…. The more I studied, the more it seemed that he had found a way to ….. if not live forever to extend his life. There are writings, drawings created long after his official death that simply glow with authenticity. His voice in the words, his hand in the lines…. I believed.

"And then Arvin unearthed _La Morte della Morte_, with all its talk of demons and vampires and mystic rituals…. And I lost faith. I thought Rambaldi had gone mad and so surely could not have made the later writings, even if he lived. Ergo they were fakes and I a fool. I stayed in the business, kept contact with Arvin because he was my prime source of information about you. I traded in Rambaldi artifacts for profit, not enlightenment….

And then … Allison. _Suddenly vampires were real._ Demons were real. Everything that had convinced me that Rambaldi had gone mad had turned out to be true. And more. I had never believed in Heaven and Hell…now I've met things that have been to Hell and back. Perhaps Heaven as well, if the stories about Buffy are true. There were so many times in Rome when I wanted to just ask…"

Her mother paused, looked at the uneaten sandwich in her hand and set it aside, rubbed her eyes.

"But I don't think I'm bound for heaven, do you, Sydney? I now know Hell is real. Judgment … that's not so clear. Perhaps it's random. Perhaps it really depends on going to Church on Sunday or eschewing pork or praying ten times a day. But somehow I doubt it. I may have had my reasons for doing what I did, living the life I chose. I don't apologize. But I don't expect to be rewarded. And frankly, Sydney, I don't hold out much hope for your father, either."

She walked back across the patio, sat, leaned back and closed her eyes, said,

"I believe my options are quite simple. I can die and go to hell. Eternal torment, that's a lot of fucking torment, Sydney. You've been tortured, Sydney. Think about it. Think about it lasting forever. I can die and go to hell. Or I can cheat death and live forever. I love you Sydney. I love your father. But I won't go to Hell just to prove it. That book … perhaps it holds the secret. If I have to hurt your feelings a bit to get it, I will. If you hate me for that, that's a chance I'll have to take. But I have to think that in the long run, when I present you with the secret of immortality, you might find it in your hearts to forgive me. Both of you."

They sat silent, listening to the muffled traffic, a distant radio.

"Okay, Mom," Sydney said. "I think I understand. But why bring in Will?"

"That was Sark buying his way back into the game, I had nothing…"

"Mother."

"All right, I may have suggested it as an option to ensure your cooperation back in Cuba… but he did the kidnapping on his own, then contacted me when we arrived in Panama. It was insurance. A little more control. Besides, if I'd turned him down he would have just gone to Sloane. So. Control… for when I needed to make you move without an argument. I needed to get you away from the slayers. Harris is disarming, but he's quick, and he never trusted me. If he got wind of the book, I don't think he'd want me to have it, do you?"

Sydney looked at her mother, saw her without the gleaming energy usually emanating from her eyes, the power in her stance … she saw the weariness, the lines, the beginnings of real age, the high-cheeked skull perfect under the still soft skin, but the future in plain sight.

"No. Probably not," Sydney said. She squatted down in front of her mother, reached out and smoothed the hair away from her forehead, said softly. "It's yours. I told you, all you had to do was ask." Her mother opened her eyes, leaned forward, her eyes bright, Syd felt them searching her face for any hints of deception. "One on condition." Her mother relaxed a little, she understood things better if there was a price, nothing was free in her world, not even a gift from a daughter. "First, I need to know that Will is free and safe."

"Certainly, as soon as…."

"No. _First._ I give you my word. I'll take you to the book. I understand, Mom. I really do. I'm not indifferent to the idea of eternal life, I'm not keen on eternal suffering. But first, Will goes free. Because, Mom, if anything happens to him, if Will Tippin dies because he was once my friend, then Mom, you can go to Hell."

**---30—**

**Next: Chapter 27 : La Morte della Morte, Volume II**


	28. Chapter 27: Eric Sees Colors

**Chapter 27: Eric Sees Colors**

**A/N:** See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias_ notes

**Lestat: **_Evil is a point of view. God kills indiscriminately and so shall we. For no creatures under God are as we are, none so like him as ourselves. _**---Interview with the Vampire, **_Anne Rice_

_"Injustice is relatively easy to bear; what stings is justice." _--** H. L. Mencken**

**Chapter 27: Eric Sees Colors**

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

They emerged at last, Dawn looking pale and quiet, Dr. Fields looking raw and bilious, Harris looking pale himself, shaking, his bloody hands held out in front of him, Faith with her arms around his waist, pressing against him as if trying to share a little slayer healing through osmosis, yelling for someone to bring the first aid kit and the redhead, Willow, beat Weiss to it and ran forward, her voice scolding,

"Xander Harris, what on…." Only to have Faith cut her off,

"Don't, Red, not now, just…. not now. Fix him."

And a grim-faced Buffy came last, dragging a battered and unconscious Dr. Martin by one leg like an old doll, which she dropped and let lay as soon as she left the building.

Weiss looked around and saw all the junior slayers staring, startled to see their leaders shaken. Then Buffy took over,

"Dawn," she said, "what do we have to do to get out of here?"

"Caridad," Dawn said, coming out of her stupor, "tell the villagers they can raid the living-quarters. Anything they want, it's theirs. Tell them to start getting ready to move out. Send a couple girls around to the planes, see if they can find some working compasses and some maps and hand those out. And get a headcount. Vi, grab your squad, join the looting party, grab any half-way useful looking books and pile them with the others… let me rephrase, _stack_ them or face the unending complaint of Giles. Mr. Weiss, would you give me a hand in the computer room, please?"

As he started after Dawn Weiss glanced back, saw Faith pull her gaze away from Harris' hands, look around at the sudden activity and grin, she said,

"Nicely done, B." and Weiss watched Buffy duck her head and do the cutest 'Ah, shucks' smile.

"I've been working on my delegation," she said.

"Mr. Weiss?" Dawn said.

"Coming."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**SOMEWHERE NOT AT ALL NICE**

Holding the torch out over the water Tippin could see why the _…. really quite inflammable man with the big teeth … _had brought the girl down to the cavern. White bones gleamed in the firelight, piles of femurs and tibias, humeri and radii, skulls and scattered ribs.…. He pulled the torch back, mesmerizing though the sight was, there was no need to dwell on it or draw the girl's attention.

She was better now. She'd had a brief bout of the all-body shakes, slumping against him as he took the torch in one hand and held her with the other, his nudity wholly irrelevant under the circumstances. But she'd pulled herself together, and now stood watching as he inspected the walls that did indeed show signs of a regularly changing water level…. tides, he chose to believe. Tippin breathed a sigh of relief. There was a passage to an ocean, the question just was whether it was wide and short enough to swim. There was a ledge about a foot below the surface, Tippin tested it, found it solid, held out his hand to help the girl join him.

"I'm Will," he said, "Will Tippin." Smiling as he realized it hadn't even occurred to him to use his new "protected" name. Jonas had a boring 9 to 5 in Milwaukee, he didn't get kidnapped and end up naked in a Colombian cave. Shit like this only happened to Will Tippin.

"I am Leonì," the girl said, enunciating her English carefully. "I am very pleased to meet you."

They worked their way around the rock wall until they came to the far side of the cavern where the water still seemed to glow a little. He held the torch out over the surface and looked down but could not see a floor. He looked back at the girl,

"I guess it's this or going back," he said.

"I am a very good swimmer," she said and without further discussion dropped the remaining rags of the dress she was wearing, said a prayer, took three deep breaths, then a fourth and held it and she dived. He held the torch low over the water, hoping there was enough light to guide her if she needed to come back. He counted slowly to four hundred. Five hundred. She was either through, part fish, or drowned. If it wasn't for the discarded dress he would have already begun to wonder if she hadn't been purely a figment of his imagination, not unlike the mysterious burning man. As it was, he was afraid that any moment now he'd wake up in his cell.

He looked for a place to affix the torch but could find no crevice in the rock big enough to hold it. He eased himself off the ledge and hung in the water, breathing deeply, trying to carefully orient himself. He took a last deep breath, dropped the torch, duck-dived and swam for his life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**PANAMA CITY**

"Bring Mr. Sark in please," Irina said into the intercom. Years of practice kept her exterior calm, controlled, but her heart was beating wildly. The abyss had opened, she still teetered on the brink.

She had misplayed it badly. She had treated Sydney as an agent first and a daughter second, she had won the battle and lost the war… or almost. There was hope yet…

Trust. If she had trusted Sydney when she should have…. Even now they could have been together, her, Jack and Sydney, celebrating the defeat of the Initiative, laughing at Sydney's victory over Arvin. Planning the trip to retrieve the book.

But trust was something that had been crushed out of Irina Derevko long ago.

Even now she was tempted to hold onto Tippin, no matter Sydney's bravado she knew as long as she held Tippin she would control Sydney. Once he was released, she would be at her daughter's mercy. Sydney could change her mind, no doubt for some good and noble she reason, she might decide the book was too dangerous, that Rambaldi was a madness she needed to save her mother from… she might do something stupid like turn it over to the CIA or maybe even the Watchers. And that would be the end.

But Irina understood now, at last, that Sydney was not lying, if something happened to Tippin … there would be no forgiveness. Not even in return for longevity. She would have no daughter. And where Sydney went, Jack followed. She had learned that hell existed, she had in fact learned that there were many … And the hell where she existed knowing she had had their love in her grasp and lost it out of fear and weakness, that was a hell she really didn't want to live in.

She had tried, lord knows, to forget them, to sever Laura Bristow and all who sailed in her from her life. She'd had men, she'd had life and death adventures in dark alleys and glittery ballrooms, and yet instead of fading, year by year Sydney's absence from her life grew larger, left a bigger empty place. More and more she thought of Jack in the wee hours, held long pointless conversations with his image….

It made no sense to her. It wasn't mere biology, she'd seen parents do horrible things to their children without a twinge of conscience. She'd seen women fall desperately in love, hanging on some man's every word and gesture, and six months later have trouble remembering his name. Yet she was stuck.

_C'est la vie._ And all was not lost. There was a chance yet. Tippin would be freed, unharmed. Sydney would have time to understand her motivations, Sydney would make Jack listen. And if that was not enough, there was the book. If green scaley things that drank yak bile and played poker with kittens could live five hundred years, why not Irina Derevko? And if Irina why not Sydney. And Jack.

And if they lived, why not together? Maybe just for a hundred years or so, but still…

She just hoped achieving immortality didn't involve consuming the still-beating heart of a virgin or somesuch. Jack might go for it, but Sydney…. Well, cross that bridge….

Sark was brought in, looking urbane as always, wearing his prisoner's harness over his khakis like the latest in man's fashion accessories. She had reciprocated his courteous treatment in Cuba, he greeted her politely,

"Irina. Nice to see you again, Sydney," he added but got only a glare from the latter.

"Julian," Irina said, handing him a cell phone, "please arrange for Mr. Tippin's immediate release and transfer to… where?" she turned to Sydney.

"Somewhere safe… but where the hell is safe from…." She paused, Irina felt Sydney's eyes on her, asking, searching, she nodded.

"Bring him here," Sydney said, "and while I'm thinking of it, Mom, I want a weapon, automatic, plenty of ammo."

"Of course. Julian, if you please." Sark punched in a number, waited a moment, then began speaking in Spanish, pleasantly at first, then growing steadily grimmer,

"You damn well better find him."

Irina felt a cold fingers invade her chest, slide around her heart and begin to make a fist.

Sark closed the phone.

"Mr. Tippin seems to have escaped from his…. accommodations."

"Where is he, Julian?"

Sark hesitated.

Irina continued. "I assure you, Julian, your survival depends on Mr. Tippin's prompt retrieval. Whatever retribution you fear from your contacts … is theoretical and …" She stepped forward, looked him in the eye, "Let me put it this way, right now, as far as I'm concerned, Mr. Tippin's health and welfare is the most important thing in the world. Where is he?"

_"Isla Boraro,"_ Sark said quickly, added defensively, "It was convenient."

Shit, Irina thought, please let escaped mean escaped, not that one of the guards had gotten a bit peckish. She reached for the phone, hit redial, mouthed "Who?" at Sark who answered,

"Salivaris."

"Sally," she said. "Irina, how are you? Good. The spawn? Oh, sorry to hear that. Well, maybe next year. Listen, Sally, I'm just calling to let you know I'm taking a personal interest in Mr. Tippin. Yes, yes, I do understand, I am familiar with your usual warnings, but this is a special case. I don't know if you've heard the news but I've been traveling in exalted circles lately. Call Cuba and check if you don't believe me but my recent house-guests have included a delightful young couple you may have heard of. A Mr. Xander Harris and his lovely friend Faith. Yes, _that_ Faith. And if Mr. Tippin is harmed in any way, I'm going to tell Mr. Harris where you are, where your mother lives and where last year's spawn goes to school. Are we clear?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**INITIATIVE COMPOUND, DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

"That's disturbing," Faith said.

"What?" Harris asked.

"Dawnie with a clipboard. That's just…. there's no clipboards in slaying, okay? It's just… wrong. I mean, I know this is kind of a special case…"

"No. I know what you mean," Harris said. "People like Martin use clipboards. But since this is technically the post-slayage clean-up let's let it pass, okay? If it starts getting to be thing we'll take care of it."

"Yeah, I didn't mean you had to bust on her or anything."

"Like I'd dare."

"Point."

The disturbing thing, Weiss thought, was that he'd understood the entire conversation. Though he had to repress the urge to assure them they weren't being _that_ efficient, really. But he didn't think the comment would be received in quite the spirit it was intended.

With Harris' hands bandaged, the not unpleasant duty of distributing the dollars found in the safe in scrupulously equal amounts to the happy but still mostly befuddled villagers, had fallen to Weiss. It was fun watching their eyes widen as they counted. It was serious money for that part of the world. Businesses could be started, houses built, classes taken and careers begun. And yeah, Harris had been right, no doubt some of them would flash the wad in the wrong place and get themselves killed for it. But hey, Weiss thought, today the monsters, tomorrow the problem of human stupidity.

After a bit of a debate they'd given them guns and a minimal amount ammo and managed to herd them into the woods in the general direction of Yaviza.

That task finished Weiss retreated to the control room where he found Dawn and the redhead checking over a large stack of books and a small selection of hard drives labeled, "Personnel," "Financial and Suppliers," "Atrocities and Victim Info" and "Kendall."

"What have you got on Kendall?" he asked Dawn.

"He did an inspection," Dawn said, "there's video, so if it comes to it he won't be able to deny knowledge. We've got some footage of him over-seeing some real nasty stuff being done to a vamp. Of course, if you don't know, it's looks like a human so we could go public without too much risk of exposure. But I don't figure that will be necessary, because we also have two hours of Kendall and his assistant in the succubae cage. Blackmail is such a lovely word, don't you think? I'm going to give you a drive to give to Marshall with just enough stuff on it to let Kendall now we're not bluffing. I don't know if we can help you with this bozo Lindsey, but I figure the DSR will ask how high when you guys say jump for awhile."

"All set, Dawnie?" the redhead asked. "Any of the girls going back to jolly old?"

"Nope, take her away, Will."

"Mr. Weiss?" the redhead said.

"Yes?" he answered carefully.

"Would you do me favor?"

"If I can."

"Would you hold your hands out toward the books and say 'abracadabra'."

"What? Seriously?"

"Please?"

Weiss stared at her moment, saw what was coming, but not what to do about it. Whatthehell. He turned, held out his hands and said wearily, "Abracadabra'," and, as expected, the books disappeared, and the redhead went away giggling.

"She hates me, why?" Weiss asked.

"She doesn't hate _you_ Eric," Dawn said, "it's just, you know how some people really hate mimes? Well, when it comes to tormenting magicians Willow just can't help herself. Actually I think she likes you. She hasn't turned your cards into jello squares or your scarves into snakes or anything. She's a sweetheart, really, but sometime she can be a bit callous, and, you know, strange. Witch, after all."

"In other words, I should really, really avoid doing any cups and balls tricks when she's around?"

"I'd advise against it, yes."

"Ah."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Then when they could avoid it no longer they gathered by the village gate. Weiss watched the informal tribunal slowly form, Harris and Faith, Buffy and Dawn, the redhead, Willow, gathering in the middle, the girls forming a half-circle around and behind them. Jack, Dixon and himself off to one side a little.

Dr. Martin had woken. Dr. Fields had been allowed to clean him up, help him to his feet and walk him down to join the others, they sat now, leaning against the fence, still on the outside. The lead defendants, as it were, their co-conspirators behind them.

Weiss watched Harris rub his bandaged hands together, obviously finding the mild pain a pleasant distraction from the task at hand. He was, Weiss thought, a little annoyed with himself for losing his temper, which might turn out to be a bit of luck for the researchers.

"Jack," Harris said, "what happens if we let them go?"

"They get debriefed. They get warned strongly about keeping their mouths shut, and most get assigned to new projects far away from one another. Two or three will make noises about blowing the whistle and will be quietly eliminated. A few others will develop alcohol or drug problems, and be indiscreet, with the same result….

"Kendall will be forced to resign and be blamed for everything you might use as blackmail material. At best the DSR will be dismantled, and absorbed by other departments, but that is unlikely..."

"A few of these guys, the ones who toe the line and hold their tongues, probably lead by Dr. Martin here, will propose projects to study slayers and will be funded. The behavior chip and longevity programs will be quietly restarted under other names. Ten, fifteen, maybe even twenty years from now you do it all again. Except next time there'll be some dead girls, cause they'll be ready for you."

"Yeah," Harris said casually. "That's pretty much what I was thinking. I guess we'll have to kill them."

This brought a not unexpected chorus of protests. Harris waited for them to die down. One voice managed to reach above the others,

"We are victims too. None…. Well, almost none of us knew what we were getting into, and when we got here and were briefed we weren't allowed to leave."

"Any of you try?" Faith asked.

"Yes. They're dead."

"Dawn? That what it says in the files?" Harris asked.

"Yeah. They were told they be doing experiments on primates. I don't know if that makes any difference. I think it was made pretty clear to them that the reason they were in Panama was to avoid American anti-cruelty laws. The only thing they learned when they got here was that they'd be torturing demons instead of apes.…"

"Not even the point," Buffy said. "We don't kill demons and vamps to punish them for being demons. We kill them to prevent them from killing people. If we had some way of making sure this never happened again…"

There was a chorus of assurances.

"Hey B," Faith said. "How 'bout that? They all really, really promise to be good and never ever do it again. That cool or what?"

"Xan," Willow said, "I could do the memory spell…"

"No, you have enough to do."

"Xan, it's okay. I did those SVU cops….."

"No," Xander snapped. "Munch and them, they were basically good guys. That was for their benefit as much as ours. And all you had to do was erase a week or so. These bastards… you'd have to wipe out seven years or more, from thirty or so people…. and they'd still be basically the same bastards that got into this in the first place. And where would it end? No. I'd rather kill them by hand than put you through that."

"Xan…"

"Hey, I can do the resolve face too..." He stepped forward, walked up and down the line of scientists and soldiers pressed against the fence. He spoke softly,

"You're murderers. Every experiment, every half-human down in that basement started as a whole human once. You kept humans as slaves and fed them to vampires. Systematic, cold blooded murderers. Torturers. Monsters. Immortality is simple. Become a vamp. Oh… but you lose your soul. But damned if I can see a soul among you. But, so help me, I don't want to kill you. Help me out here, you tell me. Give me a reason to let you live."

"Because," said an older man, with askew glasses and a carefully pointed beard, "If you kill us, then you become us."

And that was the heart of it, Weiss thought. And it was false, really. He didn't know Harris well, but the very fact that he even hesitated made him different from the Dr. Martins of the world. Good men doing what was necessary was not the same as doing evil. He'd seen the girls at work, seen their power… Their potential for misuse … and Harris was right to worry about setting dangerous precedents. But he'd traveled with them, with Dawn. Certainly power corrupts, in time he could see Dawn possibly becoming peremptory, impatient, quick to judge. But he could never see her descending to the level of systematic torture and the keeping of slaves. That wasn't in her. Or in Harris. But neither was the systematic execution of human prisoners, no matter how necessary. Perhaps that was just as well.

It was too bad the redhead couldn't do her little magic trick and simply send them all away somewhere…

"Hey," Weiss said, "I've got an idea."

Harris turned toward him, eager,

"I'm listening."

"Make them disappear. You have their passports, all their records, right?"

"Yes?"

"Give them to Marshall, and he'll wipe all trace of them out of the system. The DSR , the IRS, Immigration, Social Security, their schools, their military records. Wipe it all out and leave them here with no money, no citizenship. _Persona non grata_ in the world. You can make sure Kendall doesn't come looking and no one else knows they're here. Let them see the world from the other side for awhile. They'll be to busy getting dinner to worry about sticking chips in someone's brain."

Harris looked around Dawn, at the two senior slayers, at the witch…

"Unless someone's got a better idea….?"

"Abracadabra," Willow said.

Several of the slayers looked up then, one got up and went running into the building, then came out again, shouting,

"Phone for Mr. Bristow. It's Irina."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And then the lull was over, Jack went running toward the control room with Dixon, Dawn and Buffy trailing after. Willow sent a half dozen slayers off into the forest to find some special kind of tree bark. Faith ripped the gate off the village fence and with a couple of the girls' help lined the staff and soldiers up to walk through single file where Harris made them strip to their skivvies, confiscating a few wallets and ID cards in the process, then sending them on into the forest in the opposite direction from where the villagers had gone. One of the soldiers launched himself at Harris but was interrupted by a slayer's hand that took his arm and twisted, the resulting high-pitched scream serving to take the fight out of the others.

As each Caucasian member of the staff passed through the gauntlet Willow reached over and cut off a lock of hair and added it to her collection. She saw Weiss watching and grinned,

"It may not be PC," she said, "but it's true. Thirty naked white people walking out of the jungle might still cause a bit of a stir, but thirty brown ones….not so much." When the girls came back with the bark she wanted, she broke it up and mixed the pieces with the hair, spoke a few words of Latin and waved her hand and Weiss heard shouting, turned and saw the remaining staffers still in sight staring down in shock at their sudden all body tans.

"And the funny thing is," Weiss said, "you could probably set up shop in LA and make a fortune."

And finally Dr. Martin was the last one left and Harris took his arm, said,

"Sorry Doc, just got a few more questions I want to ask you then you can catch up with the others. We can go in one of the huts here and sit down…"

Weiss stepped forward, blocked them, looked at Harris, said, "I can do this, Xander, you stay with the girls."

"Look, Eric, thanks but…" Harris started but Weiss held up his hand.

"It's okay, I know exactly what to ask him. You have…. More important things to do."

After a moment Harris nodded and let Weiss take Martin's arm and guide him back toward one of the shabby huts.

"You're not one of them, the anarchists, are you?" Martin said as they went inside.

"No," Weiss answered, "CIA."

"Undercover?"

"In a sense."

"He was going to kill me," Martin said.

"Yeah," Weiss said, "he was."

He slipped the knife in smoothly, between the ribs, into the heart. It was quick, Martin barely had time to widen his eyes, gasp,

"Why?" before he faded.

"I you have to ask," Weiss said softly, "you wouldn't understand."

Xxxxxxxx

Dawn and Buffy were in the middle of a discussion when Weiss came back.

"Are not," said Buffy.

"Am too," said Dawn.

Dixon and Jack were carrying weapons and climbing up onto the roof toward the helicopter.

"C'mon girls, circle time," Willow yelled but was ignored, someone squealed,

"Xander hugs!" and there was a quick line formed in front of the one-eyed man as the girls took turns embracing him. Willow stood hands on hip impatient but with the trace of a smile playing on her lips as the line made it half-way through a second round before Harris started laughing, waved his finger at the giggling girls and stepped away. And then someone yelled,

"Eric hugs!" and Weiss found himself the startled recipient of a series of very strong embraces and a cheek-peck or two, and then, having established that they were coming when they were good and ready, all but four of the girls pressed close together, yelled in chorus,

"Bye Dawn," and waved and, as Dawn turned to wave back Willow closed her eyes a moment, nodded her head and the slayers were gone.

Faith came to him then, slapped his shoulder, said, "Nice to meetchya," and Harris held out his hand, said,

"Thanks for everything, Eric."

"My pleasure."

Harris followed Faith up toward the now warming helicopter, Zoey and Caridad stepped in for quick hugs and followed after, Buffy gave him a quick wave and Dawn stepped forward and hugged him hard… "Thanks for everything, Eric, I couldn't have done it without you, you don't understand how much…" she glanced back, yelled at her sister who had leaped up to the roof,

"Don't you even think about it, Buffy! Gotta go," she added, kissed his cheek and turned and ran for the ladder up to the roof, warning Buffy at the top of her voice of the dire consequences of leaving her behind.

And then Weiss was alone with Willow, Vi and Shad, and a box with some files and a couple hard drives.

"That's yours, to give to Marshall," Willow told him, "follow me now." He picked up the box and followed the three women past the broken compound walls to the edge of the woods where a pentagram in a circle had been etched into the bare dirt at the base of particularly large tree. Willow sat herself cross-legged in the center, motioned for Weiss and the two girls to join her within the boundaries, then closed her eyes and began to chant softly.

Then the Huey was rising, straight up through the canopy where it hovered. For awhile nothing happened, slowly Weiss became aware of a rising susurrus competing with the thumping of the helicopter, a hissing, crackling sound. Then the ground in the compound began to heave like a few million baby snakes were just below the surface…. and then the shoots began to break through, vines began climbing the walls, digging into any and all crevices and cracks and forcing them wider. Soon the walls began to crumble, sinking beneath a waving sea of green shoots and bramble, now Weiss could see the buildings inside succumbing to the same wild growth. He glanced down and, at first thought it was a trick of the light, the witch's hair was an olive color now… with brighter avocado hued roots spreading outward. The air smelled rich, fresh mown grass and compost in springtime after a rain…

The main building began to collapse in on itself, the upper floors sinking into the fetid basement. For a brief time the stench of dead things competed with new life, but was soon over-whelmed. For a little longer the compound heaved like the ocean in a squall, ferns shimmered in the invisible breeze, clumps of grass rose and waves of brush washed over them, flowers bloomed, fruited ripened, the air was filled with seeds and spores.

And then the trees came, bursting upwards, rising in great clumps like a handful of bottle rockets, with the weaker trunks falling away, collapsing, turning soft and covering the forest floor with loam as the stronger trees kept climbing and began to spread, filling in the hole in the canopy, the shade grew thicker and Weiss became aware that he could longer tell where the compound had started, where the buildings had stood. It was as if it all had never been.

Overhead he heard the helicopter start to move away and the sound faded. Beside him he heard Willow moan softly. She sagged and Vi knelt down behind her to support her shoulders. Her hair was a deep velvet jade now, her eyes when she opened them to survey her work were emeralds. She reached out and took Weiss' hand, took Shad's in the other, nodded her head and suddenly they were in the Pearson Arms apartment.

Vi was carrying Willow over to seat in her on the couch, there was a swirl of leaves in the air, Weiss saw her fingers sprout twigs that budded, grew leaves and fell off.

"Dwayne!" Vi yelled and suddenly the bearded man came running, he knelt in front of Willow, blew some sort of powder off his hand into her face, and began to chant quickly…

Slowly the green began to fade from her eyes until only the pupils still shown brightly, bit by bit the red began to seep back into her hair. Dwayne sat back, wiped his forehead and stood.

"Welcome to LA, Ms. Rosenburg ," he said, "Can I get you something to…"

Vi clamped her hand over his mouth, "Dwayne," she said, "I don't think now is the moment to start talking about how much you love to eat plants, okay?"

The watcher pulled her hand aside and glowered, said,

"Something to drink, Perrier, maybe?"

"Please."

A green bottle floated out of the kitchen, and settled in Willow's outstretched hand, the cap curled itself off with a hiss,

"Thanks, Dennis," Willow said. "How are you? …. Good."

There was laughter in the kitchen and Tracy appeared, giggling, she said,

"Hey, Dwayne, you know that sprouted wheat bread?"

"Oh no."

"Oh yeah. You're gonna have to mow. And the poppy-seed cake is blooming."

Another bottle, this one brown, appeared in the doorway, zipped across the room and nuzzled at Weiss' hand until he came to his senses and took it.

"Um," he said, "thanks…. Dennis," and felt a cool pat on his shoulder. Weiss took a welcome drink of what would of course turn out to be organic beer, saw Dwayne grinning at him.

"Eric," the watcher said, "welcome to the family."

**-30-**

**Next: _-La Morte della Morte, Volume II_-**


	29. Chapter 28: La Morte della Morte, Vol II

**Chapter 28: La Morte della Morte, Vol II**

**A/N:** See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias _notes

**Sydney: **_Stop saying "we!" Stop talking about the agency! You killed the man I love! _  
**Sloane: **_No, Agent Bristow. You did_.

**Wesley: **_What's that supposed to do? Lull me into trusting you again? _  
**Lilah: **_If I'd thought you'd ever trust me, I would've never played you like that. _

**Sloane: **_There was a time you trusted me. _  
**Sydney: **_That was before I knew who you were . . . That was before I knew who I was. _

**Chapter 28: _La Morte della Morte, Volume II_**

**ABOVE THE DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

Jack Bristow sat impatient in the co-pilot's seat, watching the heaving mass of greenery overwhelm the Initiative compound below. Harris had insisted they stay and watch. It was a reminder, a warning, this could happen to you too, Jack, if you mess with my slayers.

"She draws the power from the Earth," Harris said. "Obviously it's a little easier in the jungle but it could happen in LA. Or Washington. Or Virginia."

Jack nodded. So subtlety was not Harris' strong point. Under the circumstances, Jack thought, it didn't need to be. As the canopy started to reform he turned back and said,

"I think we get the idea, can we go now?"

Harris nodded and Dixon worked the controls and they were off and Jack relaxed just a little.

Irina had sounded urgent, even desperate on the phone, "You must save Tippin!"

So for all he knew she was having a nice massage while a bound and struggling Sydney was slowly being lowered into the shark tank….. God, that woman….. How could he have let himself think, even for a moment that there was a genuine bone in her body…

"Please Jack," she'd said, "there's no time now but after you must let me explain. It was all real, Jack, I just made a mistake, the wrong thing for the right reasons. I should have trusted you completely but I just didn't dare…"

And he wanted to believe her. That's what scared him. He was a professional in the field and he knew, when you wanted to deceive, first find out what your target wanted to believe and you were halfway there.

It changed everything, if it was real, if she loved him. Past, present, future. If she'd truly betrayed him with tears in her eyes instead of the laughter he'd so often imagined….

Because, he had to admit, if she had come to him then, and confessed, asked him to take her and Sydney and run together… to choose each other only over all the world… he might well have denied her. Turned her in to the authorities out of his initial anger, and naïve belief that a deal could be made, that he could save her through the system... Perhaps in the moment of truth he would have known better. But he had to admit she would have been right to doubt him.

He had been a fool, there was no changing that.

He had let his bitterness control him, let it make him as cold and ruthless as she was. He had worked so hard to succeed, so that with each professional triumph he could say, "Hah, take that, who's a fool now!" to his ghosts, to the image of the Laughing Irina that still came to visit him on the bad nights.

A fool, because he had let his bitterness estrange him from Sydney.

But still, if Irina loved him, it made him, in the theater of his mind, more a tragic figure than a comedic one, and somehow, that was better.

If Irina loved him, then Sydney could love _her _without conflict, without feeling the need to choose between her parents. He had seen how happy Sydney had been to see them together.

If Irina loved him … they could work together to get Sydney out of the spy life, into some rewarding work that didn't destroy its practitioners. Find someone decent for her to marry.

If Irina loved him… obviously neither was ready to curl up by the fire and sink into oblivion … but they could find some … interesting work to do together. They could grow old gracefully. He could see it, a house in Cascais maybe, with a boat. Sydney could come to visit, she'd bring the children, they could take the train into Lisbon for a day in the old city, or to the beaches, or go sailing. Or perhaps Barcelona… but the place didn't matter. If Irina loved him.

And if she was just playing him, if the whole thing had been an act... and he let it go any further…. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…. If she laughed…. He would have to kill her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**_ISLA BORARO, _WHICH, DESPITE BEING A TROPICAL ISLAND, IS NOT AT ALL NICE**

The exhilaration of simply being alive had faded. It had been glorious, the endless black swim finally ending, bursting up through the surface and breathing air, wonderful air.

But since then there had been the mangrove swamp to clamber through to finally find a bit of solid ground. There had been enough mosquitoes to render any … _bloodsucking figments of hallucinatory imaginings…_ redundant. Tippin was pretty sure he was drained fairly dry. He and the girl had smeared themselves and each other with mud but that had provided limited relief at best.

And worst of all, there had been the realization that they were almost certainly on an island. They could see a not too distant coastline that seemed far too large to be an island if they were on the mainland. Not too distant, but still much farther than Tippin thought he could swim and the girl was already fading. She had of course lost track of the days, but thought she'd been there something like two months, on the considerably less than RDA minimum daily diet. She had little energy left after the frantic swim. They stopped often to rest, he let her lean on him when they moved, promised her often that he would not leave her.

She was determined though, he'd give her that. What energy she had she was using, she was the one who called the end to each break, insisting that they had to find some way out before nightfall.

He still had a faint hope that they were on some kind of peninsula, but mostly he thought their only chance would be to find a boat…. Surely their captors had one, maybe more, docked somewhere along the shore. If they kept moving, kept the water on their right so they didn't go in circles, then sooner or later they must find it.

The girl saw it first, screaming and pointing. At first he thought it was an ape of some kind, some sort of gorilla… well, at first he thought it was another shared hallucination, a hunger-dream… But it just stood there staring and refused to disappear no matter how many times he blinked and rubbed his eyes.

And then he saw the club it was carrying and thought maybe it was a man … terribly hairy for this clime but then maybe he was an escapee as well, living rough, perhaps actually wearing the skin an animal and not as hairy as he appeared.

Tippin raised his hand and waved, called out, "Hello? Hola? Bonjour?" and took a careful step forward …. And the thing stepped out into a patch of sunlight and … definitely not a man (though very definitely male) … and waved the club in a manner not at all friendly. Leonì screamed and tugged at his arm and Tippin accepted her assessment of the situation and backed away.

He tried moving inland, then turning to keep with the water-on-the-right plan, but suddenly it was there again, warning him back with the club. Fine, they would go with a water-on-the-left plan…. but soon they found their way blocked again, somehow the thing had gotten ahead… No. It was a different one… more than that, there were two.

He took Leonì's hand, gave it a squeeze with reassurance he only wished he felt, and they moved inland. Leonì began repeating a prayer in Spanish, her tone more despairing than urgent.

By the time he heard the helicopter there were twelve to fifteen, he kept losing track when he tried to count, of the things herding them along, mostly, he thought, inland and upwards but he had lost any real sense of direction.

The trees overhead were still too thick to see through when the helicopter passed overhead, the machine probably in the service of his jailers, but there was a slight chance it was not, and, well, he doubted things could get any worse, so he was relieved when the things herded them out into a hilltop meadow with signs of previous use as a helipad, and a beaten path leading down into the woods on the far side of the clearing. A path he could see was occupied by what appeared to be an upright Komodo dragon carrying a shotgun and wearing bandoleers like a Mexican movie bandit, flanked by a couple of what appeared to be two normal, if heavily armed, men. Although Tippin was beginning to wonder if 'normal' was a word that still belonged in his vocabulary.

The threesome stalked across the clearing and met them more or less in the middle,

"Mr. Tippin," the dragon said, "I'm impressed, very few have managed to leave our little hotel prematurely. Trying to skip out on your bill, were you? Not to worry, your fees have been paid in full. Sadly, I cannot say the same for Señorita Valdez, so if you'll just come this way, my dear…."

"No," Tippin said.

"Now, now, Mr. Tippin, don't be difficult. Your ride is almost here, you're almost free, don't make us hurt you now."

Indeed he could hear the helicopter whup-whups change pitch and grow louder, as it appeared over the trees one of the armed men came forward to grab the girl and Tippin moved to block him and received a gun-butt in the gut for his trouble and he sagged, gasping for breath. But then when Leonì screamed he caught new wind and lunged to grab the shotgun, managed to get a grip and simply hung on as the man threw him around like a rag doll… he caught a strobe-like set of broken glimpses of the helicopter door opening and… girls leaping out with the bird still some thirty feet in the air.

Then the Komodo was shouting, "That goddamned double-crossing bitch Derevko, leave them," and the thing turned and ran, tail raised high and whipping the air behind it.

Tippin's heart sank. He understood. He was still there, back in the tiny prison, and he'd gone mad. It had, still did, feel so real that he'd managed to persuade himself it was possible, even the dragon although that should have been the convincer. But now….

---a blonde girl went running past him so fast she was nearly a blur though he caught a clear view of the wicked looking axe thing she carried. She went flying after the fleeing Komodo and she caught him by the tail and swung him into the air and slammed him to the ground, and went in with the axe and the monster squealed shrilly and was still.

---a buxom brunette appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the man Tippin had been fighting, picked him up and threw him twenty feet to knock down the man's escaping companion, the brunette was on them in two bounds and tied them… using the barrels of their shotguns as rope.

---- Two other girls, one with an axe another with a sword went leaping after the hairy forest creatures who at first raised their clubs to fight back… only to suffer two quick beheadings and a vicious crotch-to-chin disemboweling … and the surviving things turned and ran, the girls chasing after.

The helicopter set down then and disgorged a one-eyed man and another girl, this one a slim brunette and … Jack Bristow.

Tippin wasn't quite sure where that development fit in his "I've gone mad," theory, but at least it was better than Sark, which was who he'd been expecting. He got to his feet, turned and helped Leonì stand beside him and they waited as their rescuers gathered around, all of them waiting for the noise of the helicopter to die down as the engine slowed, until at last there was a moment of silence.

And then the slim brunette said, "Dibs."

And the blonde said, _"What?!" _

And the other, shotgun-bending brunette said, "Really, Dawnie?" and the slim girl said,

"Really. I've read his file. He'll clean up nicely. And he's way too smart for Buffy."

"Well, as long as it's not just cause he'd naked, yeah? 'Cause you know they'll all do that if you just ask them."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sydney looked over at Sark in his chains, glass of wine in his hand. She looked at her mother, sitting casual and calm and wondered if she would ever see her again. She had promised to meet her in Turbo, but … if Will was hurt…

Irina waved and Sydney nodded and stepped out of the airplane. With practiced ease she oriented herself, refusing to think of the potential symbolism of freefall in her life, simply using the time to adjust her trajectory toward the center of the tiny island.

She pictured Will's face clearly. It had been over two years but she was trained for this. She saw a collage, Will the care-free friend, Will shocked in the Paris nightclub when he was first confronted with SpySyd in all her violent glory. Will's wry grin, calmly accepting his fate as his life was kicked apart in the effort to convince SD-6 he was not a threat. Lot of good that did. Will's face, breaking just a little, when she'd told him she was marrying Danny.

There was another memory, his voice on the phone when he was running, when the CIA thought he was a double … when Syd herself hadn't known for sure. Then too it had been her mother who had saved him…. For a price. But that wasn't what mattered now.

_Syd, I love you. I can't-I can't trust you. Not anymore. Meeting you-meeting you destroyed my life. _

True enough.

Plunging toward the earth she felt the fear growing. When she saw him, when he saw her, what would be in his eyes? Accusation? Forgiveness? Fear? Would he make a joke about how she plagued him from beyond both their graves? Worst of all, would he just turn away?

_Oh, what I said before about not trusting you... I was scared to death, I didn't mean any of those things. You know that. I trust you more than I trust anyone. _

And look what that got you.

She popped the chute. A little earlier than usual, suddenly she was in no hurry, she'd take the scenic route. The world looked so beautiful from this height, the dark green of the forests, the paler rows of the banana plantations, the multi-hued blues and browns as the various rivers small and large merged with the sea.

She turned her attention toward the island, found the clearing in the center and the path, and steered toward it.

He was wearing a gray jumpsuit, sitting with Dawn at the edge of the clearing. She saw Dawn help him stand and he came forward to meet her as she landed, she shucked out of the harness and ran to meet him and stopped, they stood a moment looking at one another,

"You look the same," he said, "just as beautiful as ever."

He looked a little drawn, a little haggard, but his eyes were warm and clear,

"You have more bugbites than I remember," she said, reaching out to caress his ravaged face, and he grinned and opened his arms and she flung herself into them and held on tight and let the tears come as he held her.

Then, when, finally, her eyes ran dry and she became aware that he was trembling a little, trying to support her weight, she eased to the side and pulled his arm around her shoulders.

"Where is everybody?" she asked and he explained that Dixon and her father had taken the prisoners in most urgent need of medical attention in the helicopter, the girls were just making sure they hadn't missed anyone and then they were going to take a boat in to Turbo.

"C'mon," he said. "I'll give you the two dollar tour." They started down the path. "I was going to make a joke about how we were both looking pretty good for a pair of corpses," he said, "but I must admit that, having met a couple, I'm not finding the living dead concept so amusing at the moment."

"So you know…"

"Yeah, Dawn's been filling in the details. And just when I've convinced myself she's pulling my leg and it's all been some sort of fever-dream I see something like this," _this _being a small row of dead demons just outside what appeared to be a once-hidden cave entrance.

"Ah, good," a voice said and Buffy emerged with Faith behind her, "we can settle this. Syd, Mr. Tippin, what would you call this," she said pointing at the body of a large reptilian demon with bandoleers across its chest.

"I don't know, it's a big lizard thing," Syd said.

"Ha," said Faith.

"Well," Tippin said, "it does kind of look like a Komodo dragon…"

"Ha," Buffy said.

"Not even," Faith said, "Mine had wings and breathed fire and was big as a fucking house. This is… what's a fucking Komodo dragon, anyway?"

"World's largest lizard…"

"Ha," Faith said.

"Oh, Mr. Tippin, you lose all your points," Buffy said, "and you were doing so well."

"What was that about?" Will asked when they got inside.

"No idea," Syd answered.

He showed her the stone corridors, there were three branches besides the one he had explored. The island had been a territorial prison, a smaller scale Devil's Island that had fallen into disuse. It turned out the place actually had become a hotel of sorts, a transit spot where vamps and demons and really desperate humans on the run could stay while they waited for _sub rosa_ transportation to be arranged. It also acted as a literally underground bank of sorts, with locked storage areas that had simply expanded into human assets, storing kidnap victims from throughout South America while ransom was arranged. And if ransom wasn't forthcoming, they provided disposal services.

The slayers had freed half a dozen corporate executives, several children of wealthy families, and a few people who just had rich, well-connected and sadistic enemies.

Freed, Will said, but he thought several would be taking up residence at mental institutions

A few vampires and demons had been incarcerated as well, presumably for similar reasons and were not so much freed as put out of their misery.

He showed her the capsules and the larger cells and the vaults, showed her the record room with old fashioned hand-written ledgers that went back over a hundred years.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Oh down that way, you don't need to…"

"Will…"

"It's over Syd, forget it. I'm sorry, we shouldn't have come down here, there was no need for you to…"

"Will, please, I need to see it."

He took her down the narrow corridor to the rock coffins.

"Oh God, Will, I'm sorry."

"Syd, please."

She pulled a door open, reached up and grabbed the upper ledge and raised her legs and slid in.

"Syd, don't…."

"Close the door. Please Will, just for a minute. Please."

There was darkness. She let it take her, carry her back to the cell in the Initiative and the moment of clarity she'd had there. As she'd lain in that darkness, fighting the pain, fighting the drugs she could feel invading her system, fighting her despair, clinging to her sense of self. Reminding herself why she needed to live, what task she'd left unfinished. She felt the clarity return.

The door opened.

"That's enough, Syd. Come on now." She let him take her hands and pull her free, ease her to her feet, lead her back out.

Syd tried to keep the horror in check, that this place existed, that Will had been imprisoned here, but time and again she found her mind homing in on the fact that her mother had known the proprietor, known him, it, well enough to call him "Sally."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The boat was not nearly as well appointed nor as fast as the one they'd taken from Cuba to Haiti, but Sydney found the rumbling of the engines and the wash of the sea breezes pleasant all the same. She sat with Will in the stern, she told him about Allison and her deaths. He seemed pleased that Francie had been avenged. That the women who had gutted him had paid for her crime. Syd thought about passing on Allison's last words of regret and decided there was no point. He'd seemed pleased, but not particularly interested, as if he had put it all behind him and this just closed the final page.

He told her about life in Milwaukee, he was a foreman in a construction firm now, the money better than he'd ever made as a reporter. He told her how much he liked it, that it had all turned out for the best, but she could tell he was lying. He was bored. And his need to reassure her that all was well only proved that he held her responsible. Or thought she would hold herself responsible. As of course she did, so he was right, so maybe….. Gah. There was an awkwardness between them now, which was of course only natural. Maybe with a little time they would get past it. If they had time.

"So," he'd asked her, "what have you been up to?" and she'd hesitated. All to quickly he said she didn't have to tell him if she didn't want to. She did, though, and she didn't.

_I was thinking on the way back, what your life's like. What you have to go through. What you have to keep from your friends. How hard that must be. Syd... I don't love you because of what you do, or what you don't do. I just love you. _

Lovely words, but he didn't really know what she did and didn't do. If he did, fine words aside, it might make a difference.

Didn't know she had been little more than a life-sized puppet all her life.

Then when she'd finally cut the strings and begun her life as Julia Thorne, the things she'd done, however justified…. if she told him…

His image of her, however false, as a hero, as a good person, was suddenly precious to her. If she told him…

It was the right thing, what she'd done, a necessary thing. Better late than never. She still believed that, needed to believe that and if Will didn't, if worst of all he felt sorry for her…

Dawn came up the steps then and announced there was food ready in the galley.

"You go ahead," she told him, "I need to get a little air. We'll talk more later." She watched Dawn help him down the steps then she wandered forward. She found Faith sitting cross-legged in the bow, smoking a cigar and playing with her butterfly knives. She nodded when Syd asked if she could join her.

"Where's Xander?"

"He's up on the whatsit, the bridge keepin' an eye on the pilot and playing remember when with Buffy."

Syd looked at her closely, "That bother you?" she asked.

"What? Nah. They're old friends, he hasn't seen her for awhile. But that ain't my favorite game, yeah? Beside, my being there would kinda … " she trailed off. Then grinned. "You're the one better watch it, Dawnie's gonna snake your guy if you ain't careful."

"My guy…? Oh, Will. No, I don't…. I love Will but not like that. I _should. _I know that. He's smart, he's funny. He's brave …."

"Nice bod. And he loves you."

"Yeah. All that. But I just don't… he's like a brother. A younger brother. No. That's not right, it's not that simple. It's just… fuck." She sat silent, staring across the water.

Tippin was… weak. No, not weak. Vulnerable. A perennial victim. That wasn't fair, but still it was there.

Looking back she could see the pattern. She'd wanted strength, power from her men. Noah had been the older wiser one in the training. Danny had been master of a different world entirely, separate and sheltered. Vaughn all button down company man, had embodied the power of the CIA, the safe place that could take her in.

Sloane had been a mentor, wise, firm, but with an undercurrent of affection.

Her father… sheesh, the psychic see-saw of her relationship with her father.

One way or another they had all betrayed her. And she them.

Noah had left her. Danny had died. The CIA was no safe haven and Vaughn… had been stringing Alice along until Syd was available, had moved quickly on when she wasn't, was ready to move back if she wanted. Not wrong, really, but not exactly a rock, either.

And Sloane more manipulator than mentor. Her father mostly absent.

"It's okay," Faith said. "You can tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is you're afraid you're gonna blurt all over Tippin. That he wouldn't understand. But you just gotta tell someone, yeah?"

She thought over all her reasons, her justifications…

_(We sat in the meetings talking about taking down arms dealers, when the US is the biggest arms dealer in the world, no wonder I couldn't tell SD-6 from the CIA, they weren't that different.) _

(To work within the law is futile. Men like Sloane and Kendall move above the law, around it, playing by the rules when they don't isn't noble, it's stupid.)

All true enough but not really relevant. The point wasn't that the men and institutions she'd believed in were fallible, corrupt, sometimes dangerously weak, sometimes dangerously powerful. Of course they were, they were human.

The only thing that mattered was that she had woken up to the fact that there was no safe haven, no strong man to gather her up and make her secure. Not even her father had that power. Or her mother. No end to the cycle of lies and delusions except that which she made herself.

So she'd set herself her own mission and when the opportunity came carried it out with the tools and skills they had given her.

She believed she'd done the right thing. Nothing else mattered. Except to finish it.

She sat silent for awhile, watching the water pass, watching Faith's blades flicker in the sunlight.

Again she felt the urge to confess. Not what she'd done, she had her reasons. That wasn't what bothered her. It was that she'd liked it, needed it. The rush of moving in forbidden places as the city slept around her. The feeling of power as she by-passed a lock. Pulled a trigger. The simple feeling, sitting idle in a cafe, watching the people pass and knowing she was different. Dangerous. Alive. Simon had been everything she knew she should hate, but when he'd shaken his head and grinned and praised her, the memory of his voice, "Julia, really, you are the most _extraordinary_ woman," still sent happy shivers down her spine.

But Faith wouldn't understand that, she thought, for her it was simple, _see monster kill monster. _Never the temptation to become one. She would have no insight into Sydney's dilemma, there was no need to trouble her.

"Nah," she said, "I don't want to tell you, either."

"That's cool," Faith said, "Cigar?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**TURBO, COLOMBIA**

Her parents, with the buffer of a pair of local officials between them, were waiting on the dock. They had cars waiting to take them to Irina's plane on the Gonzalo Mejia airstrip.

Dixon had refueled and taken the helicopter on ahead to Panama City where the medical facilities were better. In return for getting credit for the rescue the local police were taking over the task of contacting relatives and embassies.

"Where's Sark?" Sydney asked as they boarded and she noticed his absence.

"I let him go," Irina said.

"What?!"

"In return for this," she added, handing Sydney a memory card. "It's audio and video of Robert Lindsey giving Sark Tippin's protected name and address. Which means that now you have both Lindsey and Kendall by the short hairs. I think you and Jack might manage to get off the wanted list now, don't you?"

"Yes. Thanks, that should…….Damn," Sydney said. "I wasn't thinking. Oh god, Will, I'm sorry."

"What?" Tippin asked.

"You can't go back to Milwaukee. Sark knows. If Sark knows Sloane probably does… I'll have to give him the book."

"Sydney, no…" Irina said.

"I have to. If I give it to you Sloane might still take Will to pressure me to pressure you…."

"Syd, what … look, I can move, it's okay," Will said. "Just maybe somewhere a little warmer this time?"

"No, Will, if they found you once they can do it again. Look, it's just a stupid book. It's not important…."

"Wait," Dawn said, "is this that Rambaldi book, the forgery … you did that? You mean there is a real one?"

"Yes, that's what …. That's how this whole thing started…." She looked around. Will knew some of her history, but certainly not all, she couldn't quite remember how much she'd told Faith and Harris, she'd told some to Dawn and Buffy but not all… what a tangled web…. "Look," she said, "lets get this crate in the air and I'll tell you the whole story…"

So she did, from her recruitment into SD-6 to Danny's death…

"One phone call?" Buffy said, "One drunken phone call and they killed him?"

"Yes," Sydney said. "It was the policy. No leaks. Zero. Of course, that's when I discovered that SD-6 wasn't actually CIA, that I'd been working for criminals the whole time. And when I discovered that my father was CIA … and that he'd known all along… but there were reasons."

She told them how she'd decided to go back to work…. And take Sloane and SD-6 down from the inside, to make them all pay for Danny… Told them how she'd done it, beat them, only to discover she'd been Sloane's stalking horse the whole time, she'd taken SD-6 down --- and made Arvin Sloane rich beyond imagining, moved him from upper management to CEO. As vengeance goes, it left something to be desired.

She told them something of her mother's machinations, told them of the Helix doubles, and the CIA infighting, Will being framed. She told them of the fight with Francie's double and waking in the Initiative's dungeon and taking stock and realizing that Francie was dead, had been for who knew how long and she hadn't noticed. That Will was almost certainly dead as well. That all her work all those years had been worse than wasted, had been destructive, Sloane was rich and free, Danny, Will and Francie were dead, and she was in a dank dungeon, being tortured by her own government who wanted to make her even more obedient than she already had been.

She told them of happening on the Rambaldi book and planning the sting, of being chased by demons and having to give up her memory to survive.

"Which is how I ended up at your place without a clue," she told Dawn and Buffy, "and this whole thing began. But now it's time to end it. I'll give him the real book…"

"No, Syd, you can't," Will said, "you can't let him win."

She went to him, held his hands, told him, "Will, when I was in the dungeon I would have given anything to know you were alive. Your life is so much more important, if I get you killed again, Will, I couldn't take it. Please. Now I just want it to be over." She turned to Buffy, "I have to go to Rome. Mom's got a chartered jet waiting, are you two heading home now?" She saw Buffy glance at Harris and get some sort of question answered, Buffy said,

"Sure."

"Maybe we could all go together? Could Will possibly stay with you a couple days while I get things sorted?" She saw Buffy glance at Dawn and grin and say that it could be arranged.

She turned to Harris and Faith and the other two slayers then, "Of course you could all come, I'll pay for a hotel or you could have Julia's apartment, for as long as you want it. Plane fare on me then, whenever you're ready to go home. Or whereever…

"Sure, why not," Faith said, "I wouldn't mind a couple gallons of that pistachio gelato… that place on the corner still there, B?"

"Oh yeah."

Harris dropped his hands onto the shoulders of the two slayers whose names Syd didn't remember, "And I'm sure Cari wouldn't mind doing a little shopping, and maybe we can find Zoey that Moto Guzzi she's been wanting… unless you girls are in a big hurry to get back to school?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ROME**

"Sydney," her mother said, "for the last time, please reconsider."

"Mom, we've been over this. It has to be this way. Please just…. accept it."

Sloane arrived at the cemetery in a stretch limo with a black SUV following. His bodyguards got out first, big, fit, alert men who checked Syd, Irina, Jack and Xander for weapons, then submitted to the same search. As did Sloane, standing dapper and unruffled in a perfectly tailored suit as Jack did the honors.

Jack and Sloane shook hands, Jack made the one necessary introduction.

Sloane took in the name Xander Harris, backed up a step and looked around.

"There's no such thing as an unarmed slayer, Arvin," Irina said. "So they didn't come. Although there may be one or two around. Just in case you were thinking of dabbling in vampire henchmen again. But they don't kill unarmed humans. So just be good and you're safe."

Sloane stepped forward, peered through his wirerims and gave the one-eyed man a good once-over and smiled slyly. "Interesting company you're keeping, Mr. Harris."

"Yes, isn't it?" Harris answered.

"Shall we?" Sydney said, and turned and walked down one of the long avenues. Crowds of marble statuary glistened in the moonlight. The night was warm and the sickly-sweet aroma of slightly decayed flowers filled the air. They passed through a section of ancient family mausoleums, then past older columbaria built into the walls, then finally at the very back of the grounds, into a section of more modern, freestanding units, some of which had little video screens built into each niche.

Sydney went to one and paused, waited for the others to gather around her, she pressed a button on the screen, it flickered to life and the words,

"In loving memory of Daniel Hecht, MD," appeared.

"It was here all the time," Sloane said. "It occurs to me I never properly congratulated you, Sydney. It was a very clever scheme. I might still be wasting time pursuing the false solution if you hadn't felt the need to gloat."

Sydney ignored him, she reached out and touched another knob and then one by one a selection of still photos appeared then slowly faded to be replaced by the next. First more formal pictures of Daniel by himself, then some snapshots of him laughing, playing football, then some where Syd had joined him.

"I always blamed you, Arvin," Sydney said. "But also I blamed myself. I could have at least tried to quit. Would you have shot me if I had resigned? I don't think so. I didn't know anything, really. You could have offered me a desk job, something less demanding. Surely if it had really been the CIA it would have been possible. At least I would have found out before I endangered Danny."

She paused. "But I never tried. Because I didn't want to quit, really. I loved my job. So, my fault."

"And I blamed Danny. _I told him. _I told him not to use the phone. Why did he have to think about it? Didn't he love me enough to take me on any terms? Why did he have to think about it, why did he have to get drunk to make that decision? I hated him for that. And oh how I hated myself for hating him."

"But really, such a small thing to kill a man for, Arvin. He was no security threat and you knew it. He was just encroaching on your territory. Your property..." she paused, steadied, took a breath.

"Laying in my cell after your doctor had tortured me…."

"I knew nothing of that, Sydney, believe me, if…"

"I do. It doesn't matter. You knew it was happening to somebody. I lay there, thinking I was dead or dying, thinking of a possible after-life I was filled with a sudden terror. What if I met Danny? What would I tell him, that I'd gone back to work for the man who killed him? That I'd let myself get distracted by Vaughn's broad shoulders and endless chart of secret badness? That I'd simply let you use me again? It was a fate worse than oblivion. I promised myself, if I lived, I'd finish what I started."

The last photo faded and resolved into the flickering of a flame, and then the camera pulled back to reveal a blazing fire and Sydney, dressed in Julia style short skirt and boots stepped into the frame.

"Oh, Sydney, no!" gasped Irina.

The figure held up to book to the camera, _La Morte della Morte_ and the eye of Rambaldi on the cover, _Vol II_ on the spine. And then six-inch video Syd fed the book into the fire.

Sloane wailed and lunged forward, as if the flames hadn't long grown cold and began twisting at the screws that held the niche frontispiece in place. They were loose and large and came out easily, he slammed the thin slab to the ground and broke it and stood staring at the ceramic urn inside.

"Let me help you," Sydney said and she reached up and took the urn and smashed it against the side of the columbarium, let the loose ash catch the light breeze and disperse leaving the bits and pieces, the almost intact spine, most of the cover, a quarter page here, a couple column inches there, bits of drawings, dry and crumbling.

She looked up at her stricken mother, her knuckles white as she gripped Jack's arm, "Sorry Mom, but I think maybe you should make the most of this life while you can."

Sloane was staring at her, shaking with rage, too angry to speak. Finally he managed to gain control and grit out,

"Oh, Sydney, you don't know what you've done."

"Yes, I do," she said. She reached up into the empty niche, took down the silenced black pistol she had taped to the ceiling and she shot him twice in the face.

"I know exactly what I've done."

**-30-**

**Next: Epilogue: Where all roads lead**


	30. Epilogue: Where all roads lead

**Epilogue: Where all roads lead.**

**A/N: **See prologue for disclaimers/warnings, _Alias_ notes

_"People who have tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a full stomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained." _**Jerome K. Jerome **

_Everybody has got to die, but I have always believed an exception would be made in my case.  
Now what? _  
**The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze-** _William Saroyan_

**Epilogue: Where all roads lead. **

**LOS ANGELES-**

Lauren Reed closed her eyes and sank back into her new chair and breathed deep the scent of quality leather. She pressed a button and the chair began to gently knead her lower back. She had decided, for sake of appearances, that she would let Lindsey keep the best office, so she had treated herself to the chair in compensation. It had lived up to every claim in the brochure, so she was going to order one for Michael as well.

She opened her eyes. Lindsey was still sitting there, wating to be dismissed after his morning briefing. He sat slumped, staring at the wall, perhaps at the safe where Lauren had his balls in jar. That now apparently permanent curve in his spine, she'd watched it form as she showed him the video of him giving up Tippin to Sark. A federal crime. And worse, proof that he had been so easily taken.

She'd decided to keep him around. He'd be useful. Whenever she decided to do anything really illegal, he would sign off on it, for one thing.

"You can go, Bob," she said, and he slumped out.

She leaned forward and perused the papers on her desk. These she wanted to sign off on, for the record. Marshall's promotion. Marshall was …dangerous. But she could handle Marshall. There was Carrie's promotion. The increased budget for his department. The day care center. She would see to it that Michael took him to lunch from time to time. She could handle Marshall.

She looked at the next folder. Jack Bristow's retirement. That was … a relief. She actually rather liked Jack, if it wasn't for all the complications revolving around his daughter she liked to think they could have worked well together, she could have learned a great deal from him. But under the circumstances, this was for the best. Letters from Kendall and Lindsey in his file, officially clearing him of all charges, full benefits, he would have no reason to resent her. Maybe she would even use him as a consultant somewhere down the line.

She'd saved the best for last. Sydney's resignation. She had the letters too, that cleared her name, which was fine. Lauren had no need to hurt her, just defeat her. This was better, Sydney was free and clear of her own choosing, so there would be no reason for Michael to see her as any kind of martyr.

No Bristows. The office was her kingdom. Everything was perfect.

Lauren signed off and closed the folder and pushed back, she touched another button on her chair, this one released a catch and allowed the chair to swing freely on its base, Lauren gave her desk a kick that sent her spinning in giddy circles,

"I win," she thought, "I win I win I win I win!"

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Michael Vaughn looked at the letter again, for the umpteenth time.

Dear Michael. Love always, Sydney.

She had her memory back, she said it gave her perspective, she apologized for any and all harsh words there had ever been between them. She thanked him for being there when she needed him, for being more than just a handler.

But it was time they both moved on. She was free now, that had always been her goal, remember, take down Sloane and SD-6 and out. He didn't need to know the details but that job was finally finished.

She would always remember ….

Dear Michael. Love always, Sydney…… _Bye. _

He sat back and wallowed in the melancholy, knowing it had to end. He had turned the blackmail materials Marshall had provided over to Lauren and she had really run with them. He hadn't looked so he had no idea what she had on Kendall but the man had come out of her office white and shaking like a leaf, and wholly obedient.

He had been promoted, there was a bit more deference in the halls, he was Mr. Vaughn to a few more people, but if he didn't suck it up and get busy he was going to be Mr. Lauren Reed if he wasn't careful….

Even Weiss had been acting weird lately, the man couldn't hold a serious conversation. Not that solemnity had ever been his trademark but now he was prone to suddenly dissolving in laughter that he refused to explain…

His PDA bing-binged at him, time for lunch with Lauren.

He picked up Sydney's letter, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, held it to his face and breathed in once more the faint perfume, then gently fed it to the shredder.

He straightened his tie, went down the hall, tapped on her door and went in and she launched herself at him, her energy contagious, she was so beautiful when she was happy. Vaughn moved on.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robert Lindsey stabbed angrily at the metallic keys of the pay phone. Enough was enough. "You can go, Bob," my ass.

This was _Their _fault. _They _were the ones who'd muffed the hit on Sark, They could damn well make it up to him and take out that bitch Reed….

_The number you have dialed is no longer in service…_

He dialed again, carefully, he must have mis-dialed….

_The number you have dialed is no longer in service…_

It was a bright warm sunny day in Southern California but as Robert Lindsey stepped away from the phone he pulled his coat around him and shivered in the cold.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I guess you'll be glad to get your room back," Carrie said.

"Yeah," Tracy said, "but we're gonna miss you guys. You sure you have to go?"

"Thank you, but it's past time. The new house is ready, I want to get to know it a little bit before I pop."

"Marshall," Dwayne said, "before you go, I'm supposed to give you a message from Dawn.

"Yes?"

"First, you know how she told you not to upload any files from the base in Panama?"

"Yes."

"You know how you did anyway?"

"Yes. No! …. I mean….. Yes?"

"She says that when you go to find them and they're gone, it was for your own good. She also says she promised to tell you how she beat your firewalls."

"Yes. How?"

"Magic."

"What? What do you mean, magic? Is that a program or an acronym…"

"Hey. I'm just the messenger, you know the dread machines mystify me. Although the girls tell me I should thank you profusely for all the upgrades."

"You're welcome."

"The car's here," Taariq announced from the window, "come on, we'll walk you down."

They got about twenty feet along the corridor when Carrie slapped her forehead, said,

"Ohh, I forgot something, you go ahead, I'll catch up..."

"Tell me, I can…." Tracy started.

"Thanks but it'll just be simpler if I get it."

Back in the apartment Carrie called out,

"Hey Dennis, you didn't think I'd forget, did you?

…..Yes, well, Marshall lives in his own world, he still thinks you're a big magnet. Give him time….

…. So, I just wanted to thank you for everything….. especially my lower back thanks you, for a guy with cold fingers you've got a magic touch. …….

…Well, of course we will. I promised the girls, and I meant you too. ….You'll have to give me a little time to heal and stuff, but as soon as we're up around and going out I promise we'll come visit….

….I need to go, I know you'll take good care of Dwayne and the girls….. so…. See you soon…. So to speak," she grinned.

They were all waiting for her in the hall of course, Dwayne with a knowing grin. They went down, Marshall helped her into the car and got in himself, accepted the basket of baked goods Dwayne insisted on sending with them.

"We should invite them to the wedding," Marshall said.

"What wedding is that, Marshall?" she said, mostly out of habit.

"You know what wedding," he said. And she did.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eric Weiss was at loose ends. The guard was changing at the office, Lauren was staging a coup and, through Vaughn had asked him cut his "vacation" short and come back. Basically to be a warm body on her side of the aisle for those rare meetings where she didn't actually have all the participants hearts and minds in her pocket. It was funny, in a way. She really had no idea what she was threatening Kendall with… but that didn't even slow her down.

There was a time when he would have seized the opportunity, been in there scrabbling to see how much of the pie he could get for himself… but somehow he just couldn't be bothered now.

He spent most of the time in his office, practicing his … sleight of hand, he couldn't call it _magic_ any more with a straight face. But damnit, it was a skill, in its way just as real as what the witch did. Ostensibly he was practicing for his command performance in Cleveland… if that ever really came to pass. He'd talked to Renee on the phone, she was still all "So when are you coming to see me?" but she was young and he knew out of sight out of mind applied. He'd chatted with some of the other girls too, got the "You're not a pervert are you?" third degree from some British harridan called Georgianne and it seemed he'd passed. But so did time, and he didn't really feel he could just show up without a specific invitation and, well…. He'd really only known them for a day or two and if it was a world-rocking, life-changing couple days for him, it was just a day-in-the-life to them. He was, he knew, easily forgotten.

Speaking of which he'd had a nice letter from Syd.

Dear Eric, Your friend forever, Sydney.

She was so grateful he'd come to her rescue, it meant so much. She was sorry they'd never got a chance to have that "Holy shit, _vampires?_" talk. Someday…  
Someday when she got her life in order she'd drop by and they'd have drink together.

Dear Eric, Your friend forever, Sydney. …… _Bye. _

Well, he'd never really had any hope anyway. It would be easier to let it go without having her around the office, salting the wound with her smile.

He glanced up and saw the lunch-bound Vaughn and Lauren and he dropped down behind his desk and hid, just in case they felt compelled to invite him along. He waited until he was sure they were safely past, then slipped away in the other direction.

He caught a cab and rode down to his new lunch habit, an Indian place Jack had recommended to him once. He could smell the spices as he approached the restaurant, his pavlovian response kicking in, his mouth watered, he could already taste the panchratni dal followed by his usual rogan josh and the pale ale to wash it all down. Loosening his tie with one hand he opened the door with the other and stepped…..

….into the set of British murder mystery. Books covered the walls up to the high ceiling, at the far end of the room a fire blazed, fighting the damp chill of the air to standstill. Behind him there was a musty corridor.

"Ah, Mr. Weiss," a voice with a BBCish accent called, "do come in."

Weiss took in the desk then, the high-back chairs, a rather battered couch, all leather and oak, then the rather distinguished looking man putting the finishing polish on his glasses, then standing to come and greet him.

"Oh, dear," the man said, taking in Weiss's still stunned expression, "Willow's been playing tricks on you again, hasn't she? I am sorry, I did ask her to give you some warning this time. I'm Giles…"

"Rupert Giles? Then I'm…, " he paused, forced the quaver out of his voice, "where the hell am I?"

"In London, yes," Giles answered, "do come and sit down, I believe you know Mr. Tippin….?"

As they passed behind the chairs Will rose out of one, held out his hand,

"Mr. Weiss, long time, no see."

Weiss numbly accepted his hand, shook, said, "Yeah, um, it's Eric. How are you?"

"Good. Almost as puzzled as I guess you are, but at least they let me arrive in a cab."

Weiss eased himself down into the offered chair as Giles resumed his seat behind the desk.

"Okay, aside from giving Willow a laugh, why am I here?"

"To discuss your possible employment."

"A job?"

"Yes. I can only offer the usual enticements, low pay, long hours, chance of being eaten."

"You want me to be… a Watcher? I'm not exactly qualified… "

"Ah, but you come highly recommended," Giles said holding up a sheaf of papers. "I have your reference letters here. This one, as you can see, was written on pink notepaper with a picture of a pony in the corner. We always take those particularly seriously. This one says you're cute, clever, and good with your hands. I'm not sure I want to know…"

"Card tricks," Weiss said. Giles raised an eyebrow. "I do mag... illusions. Flowers out of ears, coins out of noses."

"I see. That could be quite useful, actually." He turned to Tippin, "You don't have quite so many recommendations, but yours do come from high places. I gather you escaped from a rather nasty prison and killed a vampire in the process…"

"Actually, it was the girl that killed him…"

"Ah, a natural instinct for the job, then. Splendid." They chatted informally for a little longer, Giles wanted to know why Weiss had entered the CIA, they talked a little about Tippin's newspaper days and how they ended. Then Giles leaned back, said,

"Gentlemen, this meeting is mostly a formality, a courtesy paid to a doddering old figurehead. If either or both of you are foolish enough to be interested…." He paused and the two men nodded, "Good. Then I'll have Toby give you the tour and some idea of the boring bits, and take a few personal particulars. You understand, you don't have to decide today. Take some time to think about it. Toby!"

A slim young man with sandy hair and a serious need to see a dentist entered and stood waiting.

"Afterwards," Giles continued, "I'll be glad to answer any questions. Then I believe there is a pair of young ladies waiting to take you out to dinner and perhaps dancing. Possibly in Rome."

They stood and shook hands and started to follow Toby toward the door when Giles called,

"Wait, I almost forgot, this is for you, Mr.Weiss. And just to be clear, it's not contingent on what you decide here, it just is what it is."

"What is it?" Tippin asked, then smiled, "Sorry, reporter's habit. I'm starting feel like me again."

"It's okay," Weiss said. He opened the envelope. "It's an invitation," he said, unable to stop the grin, "to a Halloween party. In Cleveland."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**LONDON**

"That's a weird word, Giles. Doddering," Buffy said, entering the room after the two men left. "Dah-der-ing. I mean old and figurehead I get…"

"Thank you so much."

"But _doddering _just sounds odd. I mean, how do you dodder? Do you dodder down to the corner? Can you dodder by yourself cause that actually that sounds kind of ewww…."

"Yes, quite. I shall never use the word again. Now, they both seemed very much as advertised. You're sure Dawn's …. personal feelings aren't influencing her judgment?"

Buffy smiled, "She does have quite the crush. It's so cute. But no, if it was just that she'd have just tried to find some excuse to keep him in Rome. That was a pretty nasty place he escaped from and when we arrived he was doing his best to protect that girl…. I think he'll be a good Watcher. Weiss too… I know the CIA thing is kind of weird, but if both Dawn and Xander like him anyway…."

"So," Giles said after a moment, "how are you?"

"Fine. Bored. I never really thought I'd say this but it is possible to do to much shopping. It's not near as much fun if you aren't supposed to be doing something else."

"I've heard that."

"Don't mock, Giles, I'm serious. I was thinking. That … Initiative the Sequel, that was just ugly. We really need to make sure that doesn't happen again."

"Agreed," Giles said drily.

"But that other place… well, that was ugly too, but the fight, that was kinda fun. I'd sorta forgot how good it feels to really let go. Look, Giles…."

"Yes, do I discern the point of this conversation approaching?"

"What? Yes. I think. Look, I don't want it to take over my life completely or anything, but maybe I could come back, you know, from time to time. Like, maybe when the girls find a big nest of something you could let me know?"

"You'd have to train. I wouldn't want to send you into something if you were rusty. And I mean real training, with the girls, not just toying with your local kung fu instructor. It'd be good for the girls too, you know."

"Yeah. I guess I could teach them some moves and stuff."

"Well, I suspect that simply watching out for your sister is going to keep you fairly active, but I'm sure we can arrange for you to kill something every now and then."

"Cool. That's all I want, really. You know what would really be neat, Giles? A dragon."

"Buffy…"

"I know, I know. But she's with Xander now and she seems all stable. Wouldn't hurt her to have a little friendly competition."

"Just as long as it's friendly."

"Well, of course. Not that there's any competition, really. She hasn't even saved the world once by herself. She's got a long way to go before there's any competition."

"Buffy..."

"Yes, what? Well, she hasn't."

"It's nice to have you back."

"Oh."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**DARIEN RAIN FOREST, PANAMA**

The squad leader steadied himself on his tree branch, held onto the trunk with one hand and his radiophone with the other.

"No, sir," he shouted. "There's nothing here, sir. Well, there's pigs, sir. Peccaries. No sir, not peckerhead, sir, peccary. Wild pigs. No, sir. No buildings, no ruins, nothing. It's the fucking forest primeval, sir."

"Yessir, I'm sure, we're at the co-ordinates you gave us, sir. No, sir, I don't know sir, all I know is that we are at the co-ordinates you gave us and there's nothing here but about two hundred peccaries. Yes, sir." He turned off the radio.

"Peckerheads," he said. Damn deskjockeys couldn't find their cocks with both hands if you stapled it to their foreheads.

Oh well, pork tonight. It would make a welcome change from the damn bony Amazon fish.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**HAVANA**

Irina Derevko topped off her daiquiri with a little more rum and took a sip. She was sitting by the pool, staring out past the beach at the dark water of the sea, wondering idly if the feeding frenzy over Sloane's empire had run its course yet. Normally she would have swooped in and taken a good share, but she just couldn't seem to care about it, and that wasn't a fight you wanted to get into if you weren't in all the way.

Oh, she hadn't come out completely empty-handed. As soon as they left the cemetery she had, discreetly but quickly, shorted some stocks she knew would take a big hit when word of Sloane's death reached certain ears, and picked up a quick three or four million. But that was chump change compared to the main prize. But her daughter wanted her in hell and if she told Jack the sky was blue he'd get a second opinion and she just didn't care about business right now.

She figured she'd get over it in time, but well, she'd get over it when she was over it. Right now she wanted to stare at the sea and drink just enough to keep the edge off.

She was vaguely aware of movement beside her and she looked up and saw Faith standing over her table, shaking her head.

"So, I'll get my own glass then, yeah?" she said and strode off toward the house. Moments later she returned with a glass she poured half full of neat rum. She sat, slapped her cigar case down where Irina could reach it and lit up one herself. They sat in silence while Faith got her cigar going properly.

"So," she said then, "Milo Rambaldi was dusted in 1654 by a slayer named, believe it or not, Daisy. According to this Daisy his last words were, 'How beautiful you are.' Of course, Giles says Daisy's a bit of joke in Watcher circles, 'cause according to her all the vamps she dusted by herself said something about how beautiful she was before they died, and all the vamps she dusted in her watcher's presence said something about what a little bitch she was, or just 'Oh, shit," or something. Who knows, maybe when her watcher wasn't around she flashed them first…

"You mean Rambaldi was a vampire?"

"Yeah. He never did find the immortality thing. The council had a couple copies of that book. I guess they lost one when the First blew up the place, Giles found another, in some Watcher's personal collection. Anyway, the last chapter is about how he gave up and got himself vamped there at the end. So I figure, maybe the reason Syd never told you the secret of the book is she was afraid you'd go and get yourself vamped, you know, while you're still hot an all."

"Did she say that?"

"No. I'm just guessing there. But she didn't say she wanted to see you in hell, either."

"You have talked to her, then?"

"Yeah, me and Xan bumped into her couple times down in Jamaica. Look, about getting vamped, _don't, _yeah? I mean we like to say when you're vamped you die and a demon takes over… me I don't know if it's that simple, but I do know the soul's a real thing… and you get vamped, you lose it.

"And look, I got this idea, that maybe immortality, it's just not possible except through reincarnation or something like that. I mean, think about it, the only things I know that live, you know, hundreds of years and stuff, vamps and demons, don't have souls. I did know one human guy lived…. well, he was in good shape well over hundred… but the thing is, he'd sold his soul. So I got this idea, maybe the soul is the thing that wears out, yeah? I mean, I'm thinking that maybe if you trap a soul in one life, you've _really_ fucked yourself, yeah? But hell, what do I know?

"But if that don't scare you, well, Xander, and me too, we both figure you'd be pretty badass as a vamp, so we got you on a list, we're gonna keep tabs, you disappear, we're gonna come lookin' full force. And we put the word out too, you get turned, a squad of slayers is gonna go on a serious search and destroy."

"Is that why you came, to warn me?"

"No, not really. I got an offer for you. Xan thinks I'm wasting my time. But considering he used to date a vengeance demon with a kill record that makes yours look pretty minor, and he's hanging with a reformed murderer now, he can't say much, yeah? It ain't that he don't like you, it's just he don't trust you… and I don't either, really. But I gotta think, I got into some bad shit a while back, and … well, you don't need the details, but I got lucky. The guy that was really leading me to the darkside got himself killed and I had Angel to bring me back. Long story. I got lucky, but I gotta think, if it'd been something like the KGB that I got into instead of the Mayor, I might be a lot worse bitch than you are by now…

"Look the thing about heaven and hell, unless you know something we don't, it ain't all that clear, yeah? I mean we know there's a heaven of some sort cause Buffy's been there. And we know there's a bunch of hell dimensions cause well, I know Angel had been to two or three, and Connor lived in one. I mean none of them were nice places really, but they weren't lakes of fire either. Angel told me about a couple people he knew still working for this evil law firm after they were dead. So, I mean, eternity in middle management has got to be hell for some people, yeah?"

"I just don't think the Powers That Be are all that damn efficient. I mean, if there ain't no justice in this world, why should there be in the next, yeah?"

"So, you don't think it matters what we do."

"No, I ain't sayin' that. I'm just sayin', who the fuck knows? Angel used to say if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do, which kinda makes sense after you take a couple aspirin. But in the end, I think he believed it mattered. He believed in redemption, that if you did good stuff, it made up for some of the bad. You just never knew how much was enough. In my case, I kinda figure it ought to be up to Lester...

"Lester?"

"Yeah. This guy I killed. Everybody else I did wrong was either a pretty bad guy, or I got a chance too make peace with them in this life. But Lester… There ain't nothing I can ever do to fix what I did to Lester, so I figure, when I die, it really oughta be Lester I go to and show him my life and let him decide what happens to me. Not that I think it works that way, but it oughta… But I do figure this, _if_ it _does_ matter, then every good thing I do, then Angel gets a little credit, cause I wouldn't have done it without him. An if you do good things cause I give you a little push, well, Angel ought to to get some credit for that too, yeah? So I figure I owe it to Angel to give you a chance to do some good here. Plus I'm thinking maybe if you had an Angel at the right time, maybe you'd be in a better place, an well, better late than never…"

"You're offering me redemption?"

"No, just a chance to… I dunno, score some points, yeah? Look, here's the deal. This ain't a shakedown. You say no, that's cool, I'll split and leave you alone. You say yes, well, you're still on the watch list. You say yes and then fuck with us and give Xan something to say "I told you so," about and I'll come after you myself and believe me, you'll _wish_ you were in hell, got me?"

"Point taken."

"First, I figure you know a lot of shit about the human underworld mixing with demons that maybe we oughta know too, yeah? We ain't looking to be the fucking World Police, but places like that island, we oughta know about, yeah?"

"You want me to turn informant?"

"Yeah, pretty much. It ain't like we're asking you to testify, just give Giles and the geeks a good educatin', yeah? Second, me an Xan figure we need to set up some kinda slayer presence in the islands and we need a base. And well, this place is just about perfect. Cuba's good, gives us a little space from the US government, which is handy sometimes. We're thinking four slayers and a Watcher based here, you got plenty of space for that. You got the beach and the pool. Could be a bit of an R and R place for girls needin' a break from the Hellmouth or whatever, yeah?

"And it ain't just the place. I saw how easy you and Syd could move from one world to another, with the clothes and the manners an shit. That ain't something most of the Watcher's even think about. Not all the girls are street trash like me, but still, I figure most could do with a few lessons on how to order shit in french restaurants and stuff like that. I may be wrong but I think you'd get off on that."

Irina smiled. "You want me to be a Watcher?"

"Ah….no. Xander wouldn't go for that. You don't get the training, you don't get to know all the secret handshakes and that shit. You'd be more, I don't know, waddya callit, den mother?" Faith grinned, "I bet you'd get to like having the girls around. It ain't like you're having a big party here now, yeah?"

"Well," Irina said softly, "The Irina Derevko School for Girls. That would give Sydney a jolt, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, well, I'm thinking we'd call it Camp Kendra, but whatever. Here, this is Giles' card. You think about it, give him a call if you want to do it. And just to be really, really clear, you try to…. recruit the girls for your own purposes, I'll feed you to the fishes piece by piece while you're still screamin, yeah? Now, why don't you go get cleaned up, we got a party to go to."

"What?"

"It's a wedding, kinda. Wear something you can dance in. And sexy. You're gonna want to look your best."

And Irina went, wondering just when the total control over her life she had spent so many years obtaining had suddenly slipped between her fingers. She went with a new lightness in her step, her heart suddenly filled with hope. This life wasn't over, after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cemetery was not really to her taste, far to crowded to get a good run and stake in, but she wasn't here tonight to slay, not if all went well at least. The granite and the marble glowed in the moonlight as she led Irina down a wandering path toward the circle of torches in the center of the southern section. As they neared the flickering torchlight stone angels and crosses, Madonna's and Jesus's seemed to shift and jockey for position. The smell of rum and tobacco, the blood of the sacrifices and the nervous sweat of the small group of people filled the air.

She saw Jack standing there, stiff-backed, tense and irritated, and Xander beside him, grinning as he saw them approach. She felt Irina hesitate behind her and she reached back and took her arm and brought her forward, whispered,

"Now don't go chicken on me now," and smiled at her glower. In revenge Irina reached out and took Xander's hand and purred,

"How are you, Xander," but the years of Anya and now Faith had inured him to such provocation and he smiled, said,

"Hello, Irina, I believe you know Jack?"

She held out her hand then, just slightly tentative and Jack left it hang just for a moment, then reached and took it, said,

"Yes, we've met."

Then Xander shifted to Faith's side and forced the older couple together. The drums started then, first slowly, then Laline entered at the head of her coven, all dressed in vibrant primary colored finery, Laline crying out a chant that the others answered with a ululating echo. For a time they circled as the drumbeats grew faster, Faith felt a presence rise and hover over the crowd a moment, only to fade and be replaced by another stronger power. The drumbeats speeded into frenzy, the ululations became a steady wail, Faith felt the presence seeking, then it found her, she felt her muscles tense but she held them and stared up into the night, just for a moment she saw the figure of an enormous woman, a round head on rolls of rubbery fat, a wide grin with sharpened teeth … and then the woman nodded slightly, Faith felt more than heard the word, a greeting, "Slayer," caress her ears and she knew suddenly to bow, ever-so-slightly in return, then there was laughter that she felt and knew no one else heard, and the woman form was gone and only the power and the incorporeal presence remained.

The drums were beating slowly now, Laline's coven arranged themselves in two rows behind her, Laline chanted again, a sing-song melody beneath the words and Dayami entered in a wedding gown, her face covered by a thick veil. She walked once around the circle clockwise, then kneeled before her aunt. The chant changed then, took on a minor key, discordant and Xavier entered in bridegroom formal attire, his pallor all the more evident in the moonlight, notes of red from the torches only serving to exaggerate the pale. He walked once around the circle counter-clockwise, then kneeled beside Dayami. The drums beat faster, Laline started yet another chant, this one answered by the coven in counterpoint, the drums beat faster, Faith felt the presence descend, and then Dayami began to glow, then she was surrounded by a swirl of twinkling white light that rose up into a ball that hovered over the two kneeling figures…. Again the chants sped on, quickening until merging into a wail surfing on the ever faster beat of the drums.

And then the white ball descended on the pair, swirled twinkling for a moment and then was absorbed into each of them and abruptly the drums stopped, as did the wailing and Laline sagged into the arms of the man waiting behind her. There was silence as slowly Xavier stood, reached down and helped Dayami up, and pushed back her veil.

Faith unsheathed a stake and held it ready, but he moved into her lips and not her throat and they kissed as if each was dying of thirst and thought the other to be water. Still the silence lingered and they turned and came to Faith and stood before her and she saw the eager hope in Dayami's eyes and in Xavier's eyes she saw … she didn't know, she had hoped it would be obvious if the shared soul had settled, truly engulfed them both, made them soulmates in the strictest sense of the word. She'd thought that she would feel something certain, but she couldn't…. his eyes were eager, they pleaded, but she had seen that look in both men and vampires….

"I would never hurt her," he whispered so softly only she could hear… and she decided to believe him. Love, she thought, always a fucking gamble. And she nodded and the crowd began cheering, the drums began again, this time with a happy, dancing beat.

Dayami threw her arms around Faith and thanked her for coming, then did the same for Xander, then startled Irina and Jack with the same. There was a short receiving line then, and sandwiches, rum and beer were served at tables set up by the cemetery gate. The happy couple made a fast as politely possible exit, Laline's coven began to gossip and Faith grabbed Jack and Irina and half-threw them into Irina's SUV.

"You guys go on home now," she said, "Xan and I are walking, the night is young yet and so are we."

They stood together and watched the old spies drive away.

"I hope you're right," Xander said.

"I am," she said, "you watch, this time next year the girls will be playing volleyball on the beach, Jack will be tending the grill in a tee-shirt and speedo…"

"Gah, don't even say that…."

"Okay, maybe not a speedo, tee-shirt and bermudas… slacks, whatever, not the point, yeah? Irina will be walking around, making sure everyone has their sunscreen, or sitting at her desk designing stylin' holsters for the girls' stakes, making sure everyone has enough condoms before they head on into town."

"One big happy family?"

"Yeah, why not? It could happen. Let's go see who's playing at the _Montaña, _yeah?"

"Okay."

She felt it start again as they were walking and she heard the distant music growing louder, the problem with her ass. It began in her tail-bone and spread into her hips and suddenly her stride was gone and the side-to-side was back, rolling to the rhythm, she reached out and took Xander's hand and held it as she sashayed along beside him. She felt the urge to skip but with some effort she was able to contain it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**ROME-**

Dr. Ziti walked upon the covers. Dr. Ziti walked upon her face and sat. And soon Syd erupted snorting and laughing and cursing him for a foul disgusting cat that she then reached out to grab and cradle between her breasts as she lay back and soon heard the sound of purring,

"You know," she said, "I wish I could do that, cause if I could I would be."

Carlo leaned up on one elbow and reached his other hand down between her legs to caress her,

"Go ahead, my little pussy," he said, "go ahead and purr," and she clamped down with her thighs and held him, said,

"Stop that, no more, please, I mean it," but she didn't and he knew it and soon the cat was on the covers, impatiently waiting for his damn heated pillows to settle down and coddle him as nature intended that they should.

"Oh, God, I've missed you," Carlo said.

"I've missed you too, couldn't you tell?" she said.

"Missed me. Sure you have, you come back all happy from the Caribbean with an all over tan, sure you missed me."

"Yeah, and this one's even real," she said.

"What is?"

"The tan. All me, not a drop from a spray can. This is my natural hair color too. Mouse brown."

"Nonsense. Auburn. …You are happy, aren't you? You seem… different. Maybe we should all try a spot of amnesia now and then."

"I am. It wasn't the amnesia… It was something I had to do. I never realized… how much not doing it had weighed on me every day. It was like... taking off a coat and finding out there had been lead weights in the pockets. I feel like I'm floating."

"So, are you going to be floating around here long or are you just jet-setting by to see Dr. Ziti?"

"I don't know. I may have a job here for awhile. I need to go see the Summers' sisters and see if they mind if I use the apartment."

"Oh? Why, they're sweet girls and all but what do they have to do with it?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

"They don't own the building, do they? Oh god, and I've been calling the young one Dawn Trotsky and I'm pretty sure Buffy thinks it's a scatological reference, just at the moment I think she'd just as soon evict me as look at me."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that… if Buffy was really mad, you'd know it. Dr. Ziti, I know you think my neck is your carriage but I am going to take a shower now… thought so."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dawn answered the door, "Oh, good, you made it….Buffy, it's …. what do I call you now?"

"Syd, it's Sydney from now on. I hope. So, can I come in…. Oh, right," she added as Dawn, who had stepped away from the door, raised her eyebrows.

"Hey Syd," Buffy said, coming in from the kitchen, "you're looking tan."

"Yeah, I've been sailing, the sun gets you twice, direct and off the water."

There was small talk and friendly noises and Sydney began to relax a little.

"You guys aren't mad at me, then?" she asked, finally.

"No, why would we be?" Buffy asked

"I just thought… what I did, you know, without warning any of you guys, then running off and leaving Xander to help clean up…."

"Nah, it sounds like this Sloane guy had it coming, Xander thought the whole thing was pretty cool, really, right out of The Godfather. We're good."

"Oh. Good. I'm…. you don't know how big a relief that is. Cause I was gonna ask if you minded if I moved back in upstairs."

"Are you gonna be killing people?" Buffy said, "cause I know it sounds cool to like live downstairs from a hitman but… I think that would kind of bother me, I mean we try to stay out of human crap but still….'

"No, no, no killing…."

"You could still steal stuff, though," Dawn said, "we're okay with that. I mean as long as it's from the rich, totally cool with the whole Robin Hood approach. Or since I guess you don't need the money, you could like break into museums and, like switch the Manet and the Monet and see if anyone notices…"

"No, no, nothing like that… "

"Oh. Well, that's too bad," Dawn said.

"Actually Dad and I were thinking about starting a security consulting firm, you know, where we could test security systems by breaking into them, that way I get to play with my toys and be all legal at the same time."

" Cool," Buffy said.

"Boring," said Dawn, but with a smile.

"But then Dad and Mom started talking and… well, I think it would be best if I just gave them some time together. And I think maybe I could use some time on my own, too, you know?"

"Yeah, I can see that," Buffy said.

"So anyway, I got a call from this international law firm with offices here in Rome, they were interested in maybe hiring me to do some security work for them, I've got an interview tomorrow….what?"

"Oh no, it couldn't be," Dawn said.

"I bet it is," said Buffy.

"What? You guys are scaring me."

"Please tell me it's not Wolfram and Hart," Buffy said.

"How did you know?"

"Oh, shit, Syd, I'm sorry," Dawn said. "But they're evil. They're like, Hell Incorporated."

"You're joking."

"Sorry, wish I was. Really, we're not kidding. They're bad news. Look, Syd," Buffy said, "I'm not supposed to say anything, but we talked about maybe you becoming a Watcher, and we all kinda agreed that you weren't really ready. Maybe in five, ten years, if you were interested… but in the meantime… I mean, it's not really about the money, is it? Cause we couldn't pay much…"

Syd shook her head.

"But I'm sure we could use some upgrades on our security systems and since you already know about…… Hey Dawn, the buzzer went…."

"Lasagna," Dawn explained, "it's an amazing thing, if Buffy takes it out, it'll be burnt. If I do it, it'll be fine. Back in a jif."

She went into the kitchen, found the hotpads, opened the oven, pulled out the steaming dish and put it on the island to cool. She opened a bottle of Chianti and set it on the counter to breath. She set the table for three, grabbed the anti-pasta plate Andrew had prepared and took it with her back out into the livingroom and found Buffy sitting by herself on the couch reading a magazine.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's Syd?"

"She had to go."

"Buffy, what'd you do?"

"Nothin'."

"Buffy."

"Look, it was nothing. All I said was, since she was trained spy and all maybe she could take the job at Wolfram and Hart and work for us too, you know, undercover.… What?"

**The End-**

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Appendix

**Cast: -**

OC's:

Dayami – Recently widowed Cuban women runs one room guesthouse, rented by Xander/Faith

Laline – Dayami's aunt, witch

Javier --- Dayami's (ex)husband, guitarist, recently turned vampire,

El Viejo ---- guitarist, vampire

Carlo -- "Julia Thorne's" friend-with-benefits, lives in Buffy/Dawn's building

Dr. Ziti -- cat shared by Carlo and Julia Thorne

Dwayne – Watcher of LA slayer house, vegetarian

Tracy – LA Slayer, zebra fanatic

Taariq – LA Slayer

Caridad, Vi ---- semi-OC, Sunnydale potentials, now senior slayers in Cleveland

Zoey -- Mechanically minded slayer, Cleveland based

Shad, Isobel, Jacquie, Renee –Cleveland slayers

Rafael Quinones –unfortunate Panamanian banker

Dr. Frederick Martin --- Initiative II director

Dr. Yvonne Fields --- Initiative II researcher, worked on Sydney

**Alias-**

Sydney Bristow – AKA Julia Thorne, amnesiac CIA Agent, recruited by Sloane who convinced her SD-6 was CIA when actually it was a criminal organization. Sydney joined actual CIA and became a double agent when Sloane had her fiancé killed and she learned the truth about SD-6

Jack Bristow – Sydney's father, CIA, also double at SD-6

Irina Derevko – Sydney's mother, one-time KGB agent, current criminal without known loyalties, married Jack Bristow, left when about to be uncovered as double, when Sydney was 6.

Michael Vaughn --- Sydney CIA handler, boyfriend, married Lauren when Sydney was presumed dead

Will Tippin -- Syd's friend, caught in the crossfire he's in Witness Protection

Arvin Sloane ---- Ex-CIA gone Rogue, long-time friend of Bristow family, recruited Sydney into SD-6, ordered hit on her fiancé, Daniel Hecht

Sark—Criminal Jack of all Trades, noted for his flexible loyalties

Allison Doren -- gifted child, spy, doubled to resemble Syd's friend Francie, vampire.

Lauren Reed --- Vaughn's wife, ambitious NSC agent

Eric Weiss – Vaughn's friend, sidekick type, loves Sydney from afar.

Marcus Dixon --- Sydney's usual mission partner, very competent

Marshall Flinkman – CIA computer genius

Carrie ---- Marshall's girlfriend, pregnant with his child, NSC computer geek

Robert Lindsey -- sleazy NSC honcho, orders brain damaging surgery for Sydney

Director Kendall – head of Dept. of Special Research, current home of the Initiative

**BTVS/AtS-**

Xander --- older wiser and a bit scarred, walks with a limp, recently hooked up with Faith

Faith -- older, wiser, but still Faith, somewhat stabilized by Xander

Buffy -- just as Buffy as I can make her.

Dawn -- has discovered systematic economic inequity, also her own leadership abilities

Giles --- is Giles

Willow --- uber-witch, mellowed, a bit playful if still dangerous

Lorne -- empath demon, now running karaoke bar in Panama City, Panama

Dennis -- a ghost

**-30-**

The End


End file.
